The Legacy Chronicles
by NiftyKitchenKnives
Summary: The Killing Floors are a harsh place to grow up, but that's exactly what Jack does. Rated for language, violence and gore.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black, the Chronicles of Riddick, or any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Warning: Strong language and heavy references to death and gore will occur throughout the story. If you are averse to this, please do not read. Thank you.

Chapter 1

Jack relaxed her muscles and let her breath out slowly, focusing on timing her breathing to the scrape of her shiv on the whetstone in her hand. The smell of blood in her nostrils was permanent, now. Even when she wasn't killing, that smell was with her. Blood, and the inevitable piss and excrement that went with the cessation of life in a human body. After two years on the Floors, two years of hard won survival, the smell was nearly an aphrodisiac, calling out to her inner beast, making it coil and purr and want _more._

Seven years ago, when Riddick had left her on that shit-swirl of a planet called Helion Prime, Jack would have recoiled at even the barest thought of blood getting her hot. Now? Now, it was simply a fact of life. Now, she knew what Riddick had meant about the Sweet Spot. Hell, she even had her own: base of the skull, where the spine joins up. A hard shot to get, but with the right skill set and the right shiv? So fuckin' gratifying.

There was an hour left before the Floors officially opened up their betting for the night. Unofficially, she knew that bets had already been placed. Ezekiel, the guard for her sector of cells, had informed her that tonight's fight was going to be…interesting. Interesting was a word that people only used when someone was going to get fucked up…maybe get killed. The way Zeke had stressed it, she had a feeling that he was pretty sure it was going to be her.

Jack grinned, sheer cockiness painted plain on her face. "Oh yeah, Zeke?" she had replied in her whiskey-honey voice. "Just how _interesting_?" she had wrapped her lips around the word, savoring it on her tongue like a fine wine.

Zeke had shifted his weight, looking around. Didn't do to get caught talking to the Glads, after all. He leaned in close, no longer afraid that she would grab the back of his neck and ram his skull into the bars. "Like, ten guys, all armed, all on the other side…interesting," he murmured.

Jack let out a low whistle and sucked her teeth, calculating. She was good, lethal, quiet, no theatrics. She knew that, when she killed, even if it got a little drawn out, it was always clean, always befitting her title, Silence. Her beast perked up at the odds, purring in near orgasmic delight at the prospect: So much blood, so much hot, sweet life pumping out over her hands. Somewhere in the back of her mind, where human Jack still resided, still held out hope that this was not what she had become, she was screaming. She growled, irritated at the keening that somehow existed inside and outside of her mind. Shaking her head to clear it, Jack locked eyes with Zeke.

"What are the odds running at right now?" she murmured. If she could get a bet in…If she could win…This last round might be enough to finally buy her freedom. Something inside her chest, the one part not completely broken and locked down, swelled at the idea. She quelled it, not willing to take the flying leap of hope. That's what had gotten her here in the first place, anyhow.

"50 to 2, baby girl. I'm not a betting man, myself, but I'd say that the thinking is that these guys are finally gonna be the ones to ghost ya." The look on Ezekiel's face was almost sad when he said it. Looking at him, Jack suddenly released the harsh, braying noise that passed for her laugh nowadays. That laugh had set cold, tremulous fear into the hearts of many of her victims, and the people who had thought to make her one.

Calculating, Jack quickly totted up how much she had stashed away in credits from previous bets. Ten thousand, she had ten thousand credits to her name. Jack knew that other Glads just spent theirs up whenever it came their way, acquisitioning a whore for the night, or bribing the guards to get them a bottle of something strong. Jack? Jack was just saving up, biding her time until she could afford her buy-out fee of 300,000 credits. If she laid down every last credit tonight and won, she'd be in the clear with a little bit left over to get her anywhere else in the known fuckin' 'verse. And if she didn't end up coming out on top? She wouldn't exactly be in any position to care.

Simple as pie, didn't even really need to think about it. One way or another, tonight was the night that she got free from this celestial asshole that some called a planet.

Zeke was starting to slowly shift away from her cell door, and Jack held up a finger, indicating that he should wait. Zeke nodded, shifting his eyes up and down the hallway, making sure they were unseen.

Jack scrabbled with her fingernails along the base of the rocky wall of her cell. When they found the slit, she dug in, grunting with the effort. The stone slid free, revealing her stash. An old shiv, a busted pair of goggles, and the money she'd been ferreting away for two god damn years represented everything she had in the world. Balling the money up, kissing it reverently, she padded back to the door.

"Lay it down on me. Let them think it's your bet. Comes out good, I'll even give you a cut," Jack said with a smirk.

Zeke stared at her, counting up the money in his head. Ten grand was a lot to lay down. "And if it doesn't come out?" he intoned eventually. Jack's smirk widened into a feral grin.

"Well, then," she simpered, "I'm not gonna be too fucking concerned, am I?"

Zeke nodded and trotted off, meaning to get the bet in before the blood began spilling for the night.

Jack listened to him go, pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips. _Now or never, sweetheart _whispered the gravelly voice that had been her one companion for the last seven years. She grinned, momentarily wondering if he'd be proud of the monster she'd become, and settled back into sharpening her shivs.

_A/N: For the purpose of this fiction, I'm toeing the line between cannon and AU. This is my first Pitch Black/Riddick fan fiction, so feedback is both welcomed and appreciated. If you read, please review and I'll see you next chapter._

_Nifty_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black, Chronicles of Riddick, or any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work. Only my OFCs and the plot are mine.

Warnings: Descriptions of battle/gore, harsh language.

Chapter 2

Jack stood at the door to her cell, calm, patient, waiting. She rolled her knuckles, flexing the joints in her hands. Her neck and spine were freshly cracked and she could practically feel the adrenaline beginning to seep into her system. The Floors were packed tonight, and she knew she was the reason. Well, she knew the thought of her impending death was the reason. Nothing brought humanity together like the thought of blood in the sand. Mentally, she went over her weapons. She had her arm guards, spiked at the wrist so they doubled as both protection and a weapon. She had a myriad of hand-made shivs and small knives secreted into pockets and straps across her body. A garrote was hidden around her right wrist under her arm guard. She purred at the thought of it. Very few things brought her pleasure like getting up close and personal with her victims, feeling them struggle against her as she choked the life out of them. Last but not least, the blades hidden away in the heels of her boots, waiting for just the simplest pressure in the right place to appear. She had watched another Glad win his freedom with blades like that, and she had every intent of doing the same tonight.

Jack knew that she was a one in a million meal ticket for the Floors. Not only was she the only female Glad to ever last more than a month, she was the only Glad _period_ to last as long as she had. Jack smirked, allowing herself a moment of cocky pride before shutting it down. Pride got you hurt, and cockiness got you killed, as she'd seen time and again.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on her heart beat. She felt it, the moment when Jack slipped away and Silence stepped in. Silence smelled the blood from the floors and instantly felt a slow burning warmth start in her belly. Jack may have been the logic, but Silence was the strength that drove them to survival. She let her fingers linger, just for a moment, on the sharpened spikes on her wrist. Jack had started them as an affectation, a visual "Keep Away" cue. Silence wore them for efficiency, and for the sheer joy of licking the blood off of them when they had been put to use.

She heard the guard walking towards the door to her cell and the warmth in her belly grew, tightened, twisting into something more, much more, delicious. She was aware, in the back of her mind, that this was how some women felt before orgasm. Silence, though, reserved the feeling only for killing, for sweet, luscious death reigning down, preferably from her hands.

The cell door opened and she was instantly aware of the blood flowing through her veins, of every nerve ending in her body, and Silence knew that Jack was stepping back, letting her take over completely. She purred internally and licked her lips as she walked out and met Zeke.

His face was worried. Most wouldn't have seen it, but Silence was very good at picking up even the most hidden tells. When Zeke worried, the skin around his eyes tightened the slightest bit. Right now, his skin looked tighter than a virgin on her wedding night. Silence reached out a hand, running it down his face and leaned into him.

"What's the matter, Zekey? Afraid for me? All those big bad men out there maybe going to take away your sure bet?" she whispered huskily. Zeke said nothing in response, simply handed her a long heavy chain.

"What's this?" she murmured.

Zeke smiled the smallest bit. "It's a present. Just in case the shivs aren't enough."

"Well. I do certainly love gifts," she smiled at him. Zeke nodded and led the way to the Glad entrance to the Floors. Silence ran the chain through her hands, liking the feel of it, already imagining how it would sound rattling around a man's neck, cracking the bones that hid there. She wrapped it around herself, keeping one end dangling free for a quick grab. Who knows? Maybe one of them would be stupid enough to try to use it to get in close to her. Silence grinned at the thought.

Well before the smell of the Floors hit her, the sounds did. Screams of onlookers melded beautifully with the screams of the dying Glads and to Silence's ears there had never been anything sweeter. She shot her tongue out and licked her lower lip in anticipation.

Ezekiel looked back at the petite Glad walking behind him. _Shit, those fucking eyes throw me every time. This isn't Jack…this is her…Silence. Tread carefully…_

Silence noticed the guard's look and nodded, agreeing that he most definitely should. Jack may not react badly to the way that his eyes lingered, but Silence was a holder of the creed Don't Look, Don't Touch. She let a low growl escape her throat and was pleased when Zeke turned quickly back around.

She recognized the sound of the PA system being turned on, and immediately the crowd hushed. Her name was announced and the double doors she stood behind were flung open. She paced steadily out to the middle of the arena, facing the doors that her opponents would be through momentarily. In the back of her mind, Jack felt a moment of sheer panic at the thought of the numbers that she would be facing, but Silence firmly slammed their mental door of communication. She couldn't allow Jack to witness this. After all, the killing grounds were her territory, and Jack was allowed to have the rest of the time mostly to her self.

Silence felt her nostrils flare as the doors she faced were thrown open, and a small growl loosed from her chest. Ten men, she had been prepared for; but this group wasn't all men. Immediately, she understood Blink's intention, and made a note to get back at him later. There was no question that she would live. Blink handled who came to the Floors and he knew for a fucking fact that Silence had a soft spot when it came to killing women. Every time, she'd picture Carolyn's face. Motherfucker.

In her first week on the Floors as a Glad, she had fought another woman for an Exhibition Night. As she had watched the life leak out of her cornflower-blue eyes less than a minute after entering the ring, she had sworn that it would never happen again. Silence was, simply put, too much animal for a normal woman, even a fighter, to handle.

Silence let here eyes linger on the girl in the midst of all those men. Girl seemed to be the right word, too. If she was anything more than 20, Silence would eat her own boot. Looking closer, she noticed a slight swell in the girl's stomach, heavy breasts and just the slightest bit of moisture soaking through the shirt she wore. The bitch was breeding, had a kid waiting on her somewhere, and she was coming up against the second-most known killer in the 'verse? Silence snorted. She was either stupid, or desperate. Silence's creds would be on the latter.

Silence knew she'd have to take this one down, keep an eye on her. She wouldn't kill somebody's mother, but she certainly wasn't going to let her get in the way and serve as a distraction.

Silence watched her opponents, waiting them out, forcing them to make the first move. Would they be smart and join together as a group? Or would they be complete idiots, like most people, and try to rush her individually?

Idiots, as it turned out.

The first man rushed her, what looked like a wrench in one hand, and a short dagger in the other. Silence dodged the initial rush, waiting until he got in close before slashing the blade of her favorite shiv across his back. Immediately, the blood began to run, and all of her conscious thought fled in the face of it.

That first drop of blood hitting the floor was all she needed. She let go, let her animal out to play, and the animal was ravenous. Spinning, whirling, knives slashing out, rending flesh from bone, she felt free. Her berserker roar left her mouth as she jammed a shiv into a throat, an eye, a set of ribs. The blood and the battle blended seamlessly, and there was a beautiful sound in her head, a soft shushing susurration of blood pumping madly through her veins.

When one landed a hit, Silence ignored it. There was no time for pain; there was only time for the joy of the kill.

In minutes, seven of her ten opponents were dead, their blood soaking into her cargoes, dripping down her flesh like the touch of a lover. The remaining three were wary. She eyed them, knowing what they saw: the ice-blue eyes of a cold, heartless killer, a lustful tongue darting out to lick blood-stained lips. Waiting, calculating.

The girl rushed her first, her fear and desperation almost a scent in the air. Silence allowed her to approach, noted the fact that the girl couldn't hold a blade for shit. Her grip was too tight, too nervous. Silence's hand shot out, gripping the girl's throat, as she pulled her into a headlock. The girl was struggling against her, trying to force out cries from her bruised throat. The men took the opportunity to attack, finally a united front. Keeping her left arm around the girl's throat, hoping to choke her to the point of black-out, Silence slashed out with the blade in her right. As one passed by her side, she missed, but he did not. She felt the heat of the blade that skinned along her spine, the shivering greeting of air on her skin jarring her. The girl was no longer struggling and Silence threw her down.

As she spun to face the men, she was vaguely aware of how tight her skin felt. None of her cuts felt deep, but they were bleeding freely, and she was sure a rib may be broken, or at least bruised. At some point, one had gotten her face, the warm liquid running across her eyelid a momentary distraction. It was enough, though.

They rushed her, together, one with a sword, one with a deadly two-headed axe. She whipped her chain from around her body a second too late, and the man with the sword was faster. She turned away from the hit, hissing as the blade skimmed along her ribs, bringing more of her precious liquids to the surface.

The axe was the bigger threat, though. A blow from a sword meant pain; a blow from an axe meant death. She whipped her chain out as he cut in closer to her, arms heaved back for a swing. The chain caught just as she hoped, looping over the man's head, and she tugged at it with vicious force, bringing him to his knees. She didn't waste any time with delivering a sharp blow to his head with her booted foot, snapping his neck completely.

As she watched his body fall, she momentarily forgot her purpose. Rarely did she have time to relish a kill, and she regretted it when the battle was over.

The whistling of air near her head was her only warning, and she ducked just in time. The blade grazed along her face, drawing blood once again. Silence felt her rage bubble over, breaking any tenuous hold she may have had on it. Never had one person gotten in so many hits, and she cursed her own carelessness in allowing him to do so. She pulled her twin daggers from her hips, not letting herself become enamored with the way the light glinted on their blades. She whirled, facing him, ducking and weaving around his blows.

The swordsman was good, and it was said one should never go against a sword with a short blade. Silence, however, always loved it. Death was not a fear of hers, and if this man ended up being the better killer, she would not begrudge him. Didn't mean she'd make it easy, though.

His grip on the sword hilt was two-handed now, hinting at his fatigue. Silence liked the man, suddenly, liked his fighting style and his tenacity. She found herself hoping, for once, that he would simply bow out, not make her kill him. His wide, arcing blows left him open, and she took advantage every time, ducking into his vulnerable areas, slicing with her blades, falling back, ducking in again. He had already lost a lot of blood, as had Silence, but neither were willing to give up.

_Drop the blade, drop the blade, you know you want to _she willed him in her mind. When he still had not, she lost all hope of not having to end this her way. Giving up, she spun her fist into his elbow, deadening the nerve there. His right hand dropped away, but his left stuck stubbornly to his sword hilt, now trying to swing it with his non-dominant arm. Her fist swung out again, blades sheathed once more at her hips. If she was going to kill him, the least she could do was show the respect of doing it with her own hands. Her fist tightened as it contacted his temple, and the man grunted at the impact, sword finally clattering away from his hand. She kicked it out of reach and dropped into a defensive stance, loose but wary.

He swung his foot out in a wide arc, aiming a kick at her face. Silence grabbed his ankle and twisted, slamming her fist into the back of his knee simultaneously. He wailed, but she wasn't finished. She dropped his ankle and swung out at him, knee coming up to his face as he crumpled forward. She heard the crunch of bone and knew that she had broken something.

She stepped back from him and watched him complete his fall to the floor. Only then, when she was sure he was no longer moving, did she allow herself to react, gulping in huge breaths, feeling them pant back out harsh over her bloodied lips. The adrenaline surging through her system had her shaking. Other than her harsh breaths, the Floors were still, no one quite sure how to react to what they had witnessed.

Finally, a holler was taken up from the back of the stadium, and picked up until whoops and cries of her name filled the air. Her eyes snapped up, taking in the masses of humanity, these putrid wastes of space who were cheering happily over the deaths of nine people.

_Yes_, she thought, _nine_. From here she could still see the rise and fall of the chest of the girl she had choked into unconsciousness.

_And there's my good deed for the day._ That was her last thought before the doors into oblivion opened, welcoming her into its embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black, The Chronicles of Riddick, or any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Warnings: Language, some blood/gore reference

Chapter 3

Jack's eyes opened slowly, and as soon as they did, she regretted it. She always knew that, when Silence locked her out, it was with reason, but that didn't stop her from wishing she could see what had happened to her last night. True, she could feel the evidence in the form of sharp pains and caked blood all over her body, but feeling a thing, and knowing exactly how it happened, were two different concepts entirely.

Jack had been told, once, that Silence wasn't real, that she was simply an extension of herself, that she was something Jack had created when she wasn't wholly able to suffer through her own reality: An escape, a defense mechanism, nothing more. She was told that, should she choose to, she could take hold of Silence and contain her, forcing her to meld back with Jack. Laughable, that. No one controlled Silence, least of all Jack. She found herself not wanting to, anyhow, even if it was possible. When Silence took over, Jack could just drift, lose herself in her thoughts. Not to mention the fact that, when things got really bad, when she felt lonely almost to the point of despair, it was nice to have someone to talk to other than the imaginary, memory based voice in her head.

Riddick.

Fuck.

Jack scolded herself for letting her thoughts go back to him again. It had been seven years since she had seen him last. Seven long fucking years since he had left her with Imam, left her so she'd be safe. That was laughable too. Jack had always, _always_, known that there was only one person important in the universe for Riddick, and he was it. Sure, he may have saved her ass, may have even tolerated her presence for a time, but in the end he had dropped her, dropped Imam, just like he had intended to back on T2.

_And I still think about the fuck. That really grinds my ass, _she thought moodily. She was sure she heard a faint laugh in the back of her skull, and she growled in frustration. It was nice to have someone to talk to, but sometimes she just wanted to be alone in her own head.

Groaning, she rolled off of her mattress to the basin of water that someone had left for her. Beside it was a cloth, a bar of soap, and a small sewing kit. She smiled, faintly, noting that she would have to thank Zeke later. It couldn't have been anyone else, and he was the closest thing she had to a friend.

She dipped the cloth, rubbing it over the soap, and began to wash herself clean. Not all of the blood was hers, thankfully, but some of it definitely was. As she finished with her arms and hands, the water had already taken on a murky red-brown tone. She dipped the cloth, re-soaped it, and brought it to her face, hissing as it stung. She scrubbed at her cheek bone, and growled softly as she felt a slight tear and warmth flowing down her face.

"At least I know why he left the sewing kit," she grumbled. Twisting on her knees from her position by the basin, her hand quested under her mattress until she found what she was looking for: a small shard of reflective metal that she used as a mirror.

As a general rule, Jack hated mirrors. Mirrors made you look at yourself, mirrors reflected exactly how you would be perceived. This one wasn't any different. It showed her as others would see: a hardened thing, a creature without mercy, alabaster skin housing a myriad of scars, eyes that held secrets too harsh for such a young age. She snorted, and threaded her needle, focusing on the task at hand.

She propped the mirror up on a small rock ledge on her cell wall and brought the needle to her face, trying not to shake. Holding the skin on her right cheek closed with her left hand, she began looping the needle through her flesh in tight, controlled movements. As much as she tried not to tense, she was essentially mutilating herself, and couldn't help the instinctual reaction. She may be able to over-ride her pain sensors in a fight, but this wasn't that.

Finished with her task, she closed off her stitches with a small knot and cut the thread gingerly with her sharpest shiv. Looking up at the door to affirm that no one was by it, she tugged at the bottom of her shirt and winced as she pulled it up over her head. The taut pull on the skin of her back told her that someone had stitched up the gash there.

She ran the cloth over the rest of her skin noting that, other than the two gouges that required stitching, she was relatively unscathed. She was bruised, and there were plenty of places that had broken skin, but they were already scabbing over. She wondered how long she'd been out this time.

Not for the first time, Jack wished she had a watch. Then, she could at least tell what time it was, or even whether or not it was daylight.

Daylight. Shit, that one word caused her chest to tighten. She'd gotten over her fear of the dark long ago, but for the last two years all she had seen had been her cell, "quarters" as they were so politely called, the Floors, the gym and the med-bay. They didn't even have a mess hall here, as far as she knew. Any and all food was simply brought to the Glads at specific times.

With a nervous rush of energy, Jack realized that she had won last night. She had to have won, if she was still sitting here, still alive enough to be washing blood from her skin. If she was alive, that meant she had just earned enough to pay her buyout. That meant…freedom. Jack gasped at the roaring rush of hope that suddenly flooded her heart, her emotions tearing themselves from her stoic grasp with a noiseless sob.

She could finally leave, finally go back to Abu and Lajjun, and get on with her life. Maybe she'd even continue her interrupted education, and step back into her role as elder sister to little Ziza.

Her reality quickly brought her crashing back down from her hope-swollen high.

This was what she was now: a killer, a murderous sociopath who had well over 300 kills under her belt. All she knew was pain; both how to take it, and how to cause it. Riddick at his worst had probably been better than she was; at least his kills had some motivation behind them, even if it was just the preservation of his life. Jack's had mostly been cold, their entire point to continue her meager survival, and the cash flow of face-less strangers who would bet either for or against her skill on the killing grounds.

No, there was no way now for her to return to the life she had been living before that day when she had stupidly trusted someone's word, trusted for the last time in another human being.

Jack's head snapped up when her cell door opened, and she breathed out a quick sigh of relief when she realized it was Zeke standing there. A very happy looking Zeke.

"So, guard man, how's tricks?" she asked, trying not to smile. Zeke knelt by her, ruffling her dirty dreads, pretending he didn't see the blood that flaked off of them with the motion.

"Tricks are good, sweet cheeks. Damn good. Even after the house cut, I've got four-hundred-twenty thousand P-notes with your name on 'em."

Jack let out a short whoop and threw her arms around his neck, not caring for the moment that she was barely dressed, or that she had freshly stitched flesh. Zeke returned her fierce embrace and laid a kiss on her dirty temple.

"So, goin' to see the Blink now I'm assuming?" he inquired.

Jack plastered her most feral grin on her face. "Oh yeah we are. I've got some shit to talk out with him."

Jack stood, debated putting her shirt back on, before deciding she didn't care who saw her in a simple sports bra at this point. She was out of here, and by this time tomorrow, there wouldn't even be dust from the Floors on her boot-soles. She slipped a few shivs into strategically hidden places, and followed Zeke down the hall, to her freedom.

* * *

_ This is some fuckin' bullshit. Twenty-five years I went without letting anyone in, letting anyone get close, and I got by just fine. Should've fuckin' left them on T2, but no, I had to go and do the "_right thing_". Fat fuckin pile of good that did me. Trusted Holy Man to look after the girl, take care of her, since I sure as hell wasn't about to. Where'd it get me? Girl, gone, vanished like a fuckin' ghost, and me here wondering when I'm gonna give it up._

_ Shit._

Riddick was not pleased. He glared moodily at his comm screen, having just read a message from the Imam. Two years ago, he'd dropped planet side on Helion Prime, intending to just…he wasn't sure. Visit, maybe, check in on them, make sure the girl wasn't some fat fuck's wife yet. She had potential, even as a kid, and for some reason he couldn't see her going all docile. Maybe he'd even get one of the holy man's lectures about finding god while he was there, just for old time's sake.

Wrong.

What he found was a distraught family, wondering where their adopted daughter had gone. She'd left a note telling them she was leaving, not coming back, and when he showed up, what'd they do? Looked to him, Riddick, escaped con and murderer, to go out and save her stupid ass. Again.

Ain't that some shit?

According to the brief message, no one had heard from Jack at all since her disappearance. When he'd first found out, Riddick had managed to trace her to a merc ship. Supposedly, she'd gone freely, and he'd never been more pissed. He'd been ready to call off any attempt to find her right there until Abu had convinced him that she would never willingly sign on with bounty hunters. She had kept her silence about him for five years, had never given up hope that he'd return. Laid the guilt on him real thick. In the end he'd decided to track her down, at least to kick her scrawny ass for being so stupid.

He'd traced the merc ship from Helion Prime to a planet on the other side of the system, Golgara. From there, the girl's trail ended abruptly at a slaver's specializing in the sale of virgins. His stomach had turned at the thought of what could have happened to her. Blood ran, bones snapped, the animal came out to play. Still nothing, not even a whisper of her whereabouts.

Which brought him here, to the present. Riddick ran his hands over his skull, growling in annoyance at the long hair pulled back at the base. Richard B. Riddick would never have let his hair grow on purpose. Evan Richards, on the other hand, would have. Since, for the time being, he was Evan, he didn't have much choice.

Evan was a shipper, nothing too fancy, but he owned a business with another shipper, Bryan. Over the last couple of years, they'd done well enough to buy a second, larger ship which Riddick was currently piloting. Bryan didn't know his past, didn't know exactly why he looked so much like a famed murderer, and he was smart enough not to ask.

The only thing that he'd really trusted Bryan with, as far as anything personal, was Jack. He made the mistake of drinking heavily after his failed search mission to Golgara and had told Bryan an edited version of his meeting the girl, and how she'd been taken. Since then, Bryan had been subtly trying to get information at every port he docked in. He wasn't any better off than Riddick on that front, though.

With a snarl of frustration, Riddick slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair. Flipping the controls to cruise, he headed down to the gym, sure he'd have to replace a punching bag or two come morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/ The Chronicles of Riddick, or any of the characters therein. Only plot and OFCs are mine.

Warnings: Foul language

Chapter 4

Zeke and Jack paused briefly outside of the door to Blink's office. He handed her a stack of promissory notes which she promptly tucked into her back pocket without counting, honor among thieves. Without knocking, Jack threw the door to his office open, and sauntered in like she owned the place. Giving Blink's surprised eyes a wide Cheshire cat smile, she plopped herself down in the guest chair across the desk from him and just stared him down.

Three years ago, Jack would never have even considered approaching the Goliath of a man. When standing, he was even taller than a certain convict, stretching up to an impossible seeming 6'7". His long muscled body may have looked flabby, but Jack knew that underneath that was all muscle. She also knew that didn't meant shit if you could get the drop on someone, and Jack could always get the drop on a man. Maybe it was the tits.

"So, Blinky baby, I've got a proposition for ya," she stated boldly. Blink just chuckled, and lowered himself into the chair he'd evacuated when she threw his door open.

"Really now, Jackie girl? What kind of _proposition _would that be?" he asked, filling the word with much more dirty promise than it had held as it left Jack's lips. She allowed her lips to form up into a devious smile, and ran her tongue out along them. Come closer said the spider to the fly.

Letting out a small breath, leaning in as if to drop a lover's kiss, she said in a throaty voice: "You let me buy out, all nice and quiet-like, and I'll pretend I don't want to slit you from balls to belly for that stunt you pulled with the girl last night." She smiled again as she pulled back, a wanton woman flirting shamelessly. Blink snickered as Jack adjusted in her seat, waiting for her answer.

"You've been holding out on me there, little lady. Buy out's 300k, which you know. And if you've got that kind of money, I'm wondering where you came across it," Blink replied, playing the game.

Jack shrugged, nonchalant. "I've got my ways, big boy…So, how's it gonna be? You let me bow out gracefully, pay my way and disappear? Or I leave you in a pool of your own blood, shitting yourself and crying for mommy?" she purred, shiv appearing in her hands and cleaning her nails.

Blink stared at the girl, evaluating her. At 5'6 she was a walking pillar of chorded muscle and bone. Her tight waist, lithe hips, firm ass, betrayed that fact that there wasn't an ounce of fat on her. He'd seen her potential years ago, when she'd first been brought in. Even then, kidnapped, scared shitless, she'd been tough, obviously a fighter. Now, the woman before him was practically Death incarnate, a practiced killer who most people did not want to fuck with. Blink was a smart man, and he'd long ago learned to tell a true threat from an empty one. Jack's was far from empty. He'd known how she felt about women in the ring with her before he put the young mother, Lyla, down on the lists. He had simply wanted to…test her. See if she had finally snapped after two years of bloodletting. He'd been pleased when she had simply knocked the girl out, then stood in front of her protectively, a compassionate tigress with a frightened cub.

"You got the notes?" he asked, calmly.

Jack nodded. "But…Before that, how much is the girl's buyout?"

Blink wasn't very surprised. Beneath her maniac exterior, somewhere there was still the heart of a loving 20 year old woman, just waiting for someone to recognize it.

"Forty grand," he replied after a moment's thought.

"Bullshit, girl can't fight worth a damn. She'd be dead already if I hadn't just knocked her out. I'll give you ten."

"Fine, thirty and we've got a deal."

"No way, Blink. Bitch has pups waiting on her, she's still leaking for fuck's sake. Fifteen's the most I'll do."

"Twenty, and that's as low as I'll go."

Jack stared at him, sucking on the corner of her lip, before finally giving one sharp nod. She stuck out her hand. "Deal." They shook on it, and she reached into her pocket. Blink tensed, just for a second, before he saw the small slips of paper in her palm.

"I'm gonna need the rest of that on cred cards. 80 on one…20 on the other," Jack informed him. Blink laughed, God the girl had a pair.

"Anything else I can do you for you, oh mighty warrior princess?" he intoned sarcastically.

"Sure, don't ever call me princess again or I'll gut you like a god-damn fish," she replied, light. What's a death threat among friends?

Blink chuckled and reached into the safe beside his desk. This next part of the transaction was old, as old as the Floors themselves, and a part that many a Glad dreamed of as they waited for death to claim them. Unbidden, Jack stood from her chair and dropped to her knees, chin resting on her chest, eyes to the floor.

Blink stood over her, a back sheath and two twin sword held between his hands.

"Jack, fighting as Silence, on these floors have you lain many a man. Your blood has called their blood, your pain has called their pain. Through battle you have become pure, through battle you have become clean. The fires of rage have burnt through your veins, and your past has been laid waste in its wake. On this day, you will know these Floors no longer. Arise, Warrior, and receive your mark of freedom." Blink's voice was strong, sure, giving due honor to the rite.

Solemnly, Jack stood, and allowed the bear of a man to strap the sheath around her, buckling it in front. She marveled at the light heft of the cold hilts of the blades on her shoulders. She felt an unfamiliar stinging sensation in her eyes, and when she looked up, Blink was a blur in her vision. Without warning, his arms came down around her, pulling her into a hug, and she hugged back, wrapping her arms around his neck, sobbing aloud for the first time in years.

He placed her feet gently back down onto the floor, and laid a chaste, brotherly kiss on her forehead.

"I've gotta say, I'm going to miss you kid," his gruff words blew in soft wisps over her head.

Jack sniffled and laughed, wiping her arms across her face. "Me? Or the money I've made your greedy ass over the years?"

Blink simply smiled.

"So, since this is your last night with us, I might as well show you to your room. Don't worry, it's not a cell. A real room, real bed…Real shower."

Jacks face lit up. She'd had baths in a small basin, once a week. She'd gotten so used to the smell of dried blood on her body that she couldn't remember what her own skin actually smelled like. Right now, a shower and a bed were pretty much her idea of heaven.

She wasted no time, returning quickly to her cell, retrieving the few belongings she had. Pausing, she looked at the shiv and goggles in her hand. Even though he hadn't known it, probably hadn't even thought about her, remembering him had been part of the reason that she survived. With a small affectionate smile that would have shocked any who saw it, she pulled the goggles over her head and let them rest around her neck, and slipped the shiv in a concealed pocket in the back of her pants.

That done, she scanned the rest of the cell. She had already pocketed her weapons. She headed to the door before pausing. Hesitantly, she stuck her hand under the mat, questing fingers triumphant as she located the small glossy piece of paper. The picture made her heart sting, but she needed it with her now. She slipped it into her pocket, patting it to assure it didn't fall.

Zeke led her down the corridor of cells, and her ears were filled with the whistles and cheers of fellow Glads who, for the moment, rejoiced with her as she held her head proudly, letting all see the twin blades that marked the end of her servitude.

* * *

"Richards…"

The voice came from somewhere near by, but for the life of him, Riddick couldn't manage to give a damn. He'd finally fallen asleep, not that long ago, as he'd been looking over star-charts.

"Richards…" came the voice again. Riddick groaned and swatted an arm out. There was no one else on the ship but him, so it couldn't be that urgent.

"Richards! Wake the fuck up you lazy baboon!"

Riddick's head snapped up, and he growled at the video display on his comm screen. "This had better be important, Bryan, or I am going to kick your ass," he muttered.

"Yeah, actually, it is. I've got a drop coming up today. Golgara. I'm going to be land-bound for a re-supply and refuel for about 2 days. Was wondering if you'd heard anything new about the girl, anything I could be asking around about. Dick," he added for good measure.

Riddick frowned, wiping a hand over his stubbled chin.

"No, man, nothing new. Just…try again. Maybe she's turned up, or at least her body has. I'd like to be able to let her dad know, either way."

Bryan nodded solemnly. Even though he'd never met the girl personally, he hoped for his friend, and for her father, that there was some sort of happy ending to her story. He'd seen too many good girls go out that way, sold as slaves, forced into selling themselves. Shitty way to live, as far as he was concerned. Death might have been an improvement.

"Right…Well, I'll try askin' around again, take a look in the brothels. You don't think…" Bryan trailed off, a strange idea brewing.

"Spit it out, Bryan," Riddick growled, getting annoyed.

"You don't think they'd have brought her to the Floors, do you? I heard there was this girl there…"

Riddick's booming laugh cut him off.

"The day that Jack survives in a place like that is the day I cut off my left nut willingly. No, no way. Girl was 120, soaking wet."

Bryan nodded. "Alright then, I'm dropping in. McKenzie out."

Riddick stared at the darkened comm screen, frowning in thought. Even if she had been taken there, for whatever reason, she was long dead by now. Riddick didn't even give it another thought as he padded off into the galley to make coffee.

* * *

Jack was pretty sure that, had someone drawn a gun on her, she could have died happy. The warm water of her first real shower was pounding down on her head as it had been for the last forty minutes. She scrubbed her skin until it shone pink, washed her hair until it squeaked, and had even managed to shave with the small razor Zeke had handed her. Now, she was simply enjoying the fact that she was taking her first shower as a free woman in two years.

She smirked, slightly, when she thought back to her morning ritual at Imam's house. She'd train for a couple of hours before heading to school, not bothering with a shower to wash the smell of sweat from her skin until she had returned home. It simply hadn't seemed important at the time. People took showers every day, no big deal, it was just water.

Ridiculous. This wasn't just water, it was pure heaven sluicing down her flesh. Even the biting pain of the soap over her new cuts couldn't dull the experience.

Sighing, she cut the water and stepped out gingerly, wrapping a towel around her body, loving the steam clinging to the air in the small bathroom. Steeling herself, she wiped a hand over the full-length mirror for her first real look at her face in a long time. What stared back at her could have been pretty, if not for the stitches and the cut running along her hair-line. High, strong cheekbones that featured a number of small, white scars, a proud, pert nose, and a delicate chin under pouting pink lips completed her. Gone was the baby fat that she'd seen last, at 18. The only thing immediately recognizable were the emerald green eyes, still with a familiar flash of fire. She smiled at herself, trying it out, and wincing just a bit when it pulled the stitches. Scratch that, no big smiles. It wasn't like they'd be genuine, anyhow.

Her eyes focused on the riotous mass that was her hair next. It had long ago formed into dreadlocks out of necessity. She had only ever shaved her head the once, and afterwards had let it grow. A year into her time on the Floors, her hair had been soaked in so much sweat, so much blood, that it had simply matted naturally, and she hadn't been concerned enough to care. Now, though, she wanted to do something about it, release the dreadlocks as another farewell to that time.

Jack dug around in the drawers of the bathroom sink, crowing triumphantly when her hands found what they sought. For a long while, the only sound was the slow -snikt- of scissors passing through thick hair.

When she finished, she was left with a short crop of dark curls that danced around her head, and tumbled into her eyes. It would have to do.

As she dressed, Jack found herself smiling hesitantly. Now…Now she would allow herself to hope. Tomorrow would bring a quick trip to purchase some clothes and other things she needed, and then she would go about booking herself passage somewhere.

Her smile widened when she realized that she didn't have a particular destination in mind.

A/N: I just wanted to say another huge thank you for the reviews and alerts. I'm a huge fan of the Riddick-verse, and while this is an AR, I'm trying not to make it AU…if that makes sense. As always, if you read, please review, it makes my muse smile. From here on, we're going to start getting into darker territory, but I'm looking forward to it, and I hope you are too. Thank you, and I'll see you next chapter.

Nifty


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick or any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work

Chapter 5

Jack woke every thirty minutes throughout the night like clockwork. It was something she had trained herself to do in her first month as a Glad when she realized that not all of the guards seemed to view her as a surrogate sister as Ezekiel instantly had. By the tenth time she had done this, her body felt rested and her mind was fully awake. She rose from the bed and began her usual morning routine of sit ups, push ups, up/downs and stretches before moving into her katas. They were one of the few stylized exercises that she had kept up with. Her actual fighting style had developed based on necessity, mixed in equal parts between street brawl and martial arts. Her well disciplined muscles lent themselves to her routine without complaint.

Two hours later, feeling warmed and alert, she treated herself to another shower.

_So this is what my life has come to_, she though sardonically. _Taking a shower, especially two showers, in a twelve hour period is a fucking treat. Sad stuff, Jackie girl, sad stuff indeed._

When she was finished, she once again wiped down the mirror and looked at her face. The stitches were already starting to melt away as her flesh re-knit itself. She vaguely remembered some kind of hypo and realized that Zeke must have shot her full of nano-meds after she had been taken off the Floor. Her back felt less like someone had set it on fire, and she twisted to see it in the mirror. A long line of stitches created a trail arcing from her right shoulder all the way to her left hip. She whistled low when she considered the implication. She should, by all rights, be dead, would be dead from that kind of hit if Zeke hadn't stitched her up. Once again, she felt she owed a man her life. Once again, she doubted she'd be able to return the favor.

Jack dressed quickly in her one spare set of clothes. The ones she'd actually left the Floors in were beyond repair. Even if they weren't, Jack felt certain that, even on a planet like Golgara, people would notice a young woman walking around with blood stained clothing. She pulled on her cargo-pants and sports bra, hissing through her teeth when the band cut into her raw, stitched flesh. She pulled her plain grey t-shirt on over it and stooped to tie on her boots. She would have to go shopping today before she went about finding lodgings for the night. She would prefer to be off planet by sundown, but had the feeling that she wouldn't get her way.

A knock sounded at the door as she was slipping her blades into their various hiding places along her body. She padded softly across the floor and held her eye to the small viewing hole: It was Zeke. She smiled as she opened the door for him, and he grinned back, raising a hand to ruffle her newly shorn curls.

"Looks good on ya, baby girl," he said, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

"You know, Zeke, you are the only person that I let get away with that shit," she gruffed at him.

"What shit?"

"Treating me like a girl, calling me little nicknames," she replied.

Zeke just grinned. "Jack, you _are_ a girl. Besides, you remind me of my kid sister back home. Better me with nicknames than one of the other guards with his dick in his hands," he reasoned.

Jack felt a shudder crawl up her spine, and Zeke watched as her face became an impassive mask. He mentally cursed himself for saying anything, knowing that was one of her "no tread" zones: men and how brutal they could be to a young girl.

"So, I got a present for ya," he said with false cheer. He didn't apologize because he knew she wouldn't accept or appreciate it. It was just like battlefield rules with her, she pretended it was fine, he pretended she was fine, and they all lived at the end of the day.

He pressed a brown bundle into her hands, and she nodded as she dropped into a chair. Jack ran her finger along the seams before ripping the paper with a swift pull of her sharpened nails.

As she stared at the contents, Zeke watched her face while he waited for understanding to dawn. When it did, he swore he saw the faintest of shimmers beneath her eyelids, but she quickly fought it down.

"So…" she said after a long silent minute. "Nix, huh? Sabriel Nix," she tried the name out, rolling it on her tongue before nodding. "Parents, schooling, basic background, work history. Looks like I'm pretty damned smart too," she murmured, gnawing at the side of her lip.

"Actually, that was the easy part. Remember those uh…doctors? They did those aptitude and intelligence tests, and those are your actual scores," Zeke offered.

Jack nodded, thinking it over. In her hands was literally everything she'd need for a new life, and she knew that Zeke would have gone through a pretty solid source to get her new ident. She didn't know what to say, so with numb hands she simply lifted the identification and files and looked to the heavy, square package underneath it. It was a small pocket computer, and Zeke had taken the time to load comm, music, and video applications on to it. For some reason, that touched her, and she sniffled, hating herself for the momentary weakness.

"Zeke, I…" she trailed off, looking up at him.

"Hey," Zeke held up a hand. "Don't worry about it. Least I could do after…everything you've been through. Maybe someday, you'll be able to save _my_ ass in return."

Jack smiled and nodded.

"So…Where'd the name come from?" She couldn't help but be curious. She knew a saber was a type of sword from Old Earth, and Sabriel sounded like it could be the female form of it.

"Sabriel is my mom's name. It's been in the family for…ever, basically. And Nix just seemed appropriate, ya know? End, cease, stop…Seemed symbolic," Zeke blushed as he actually vocalized his reasoning, embarrassed at how convoluted it sounded. Jack was simply nodding, it made sense to her, and it wasn't like she felt safe using any of her old names anyway. Jacqueline al-Walid had vanished, Jack B. Badd had a bounty, and Audrey…she shuddered, firmly slamming her mental door on even thinking of that name.

"I can't even tell you how much this means, Zeke. No one's ever done something this huge for me. I mean, I've had friends drag my ass out of the fire before but no one's ever actually given me a whole new life." Jack looked back to her history file, eye catching her birth planet, Ostara, and her parents, Sabriel and John Williams. Tears pricked her eyes again as she realized he'd made her his sister.

"So, guess I'll have to stop by and visit the folks someday, eh?" she smirked.

Zeke just nodded. They both knew what the banter really was: A cover, two people who were maybe each other's only friends trying to stall, to put off the inevitable parting.

"I think they'd like that…sis," Zeke replied. "I put my comm line in there, if you ever want to talk, relive the good times and such."

Jack laughed, one of her first real laughs that Zeke had ever heard. Their good times had consisted mostly of him stitching her up, her teaching him some new fighting move, and recalling the dead Glads of any given day.

Shortly thereafter, Zeke left with promises to keep in touch. Jack looked around her room, knowing that the cold settling in her spine was a figment of her imagination, shivering from it anyway. She gathered her few possessions, and her new identification, and put them in her small pack. It was time to find a way off this planet.

Jack closed the door to her room, walked away from the building that housed the Floors, and never looked back.

* * *

Bryan sucked on his teeth in annoyance as he entered the atmosphere of Golgara Major. He really, truly hated this place. The streets were filthy, home to dealers and slavers. He couldn't even visit a local brothel in any semblance of good conscience, since most of the women there weren't exactly willing. To make things worse, the main draw of the planet, both for money and sight-seeing, was the Killing Floors.

He'd stopped by the Floors once, a few trips back, and that had been a mistake. Brutal murders enacted every day with one simple thing fueling them: greed. If the Glads survived, they got popular. If they didn't, they were so much fodder anyhow. The Glad population was made up mostly of convicts and slaves who, much like starved dogs when let off their leash, attacked whatever stood in their way with sheer abandon. Nasty shit.

The one impressive thing he had witnessed that night had been the girl. She'd been young, maybe a teenager, he couldn't be sure since he hadn't gotten a good enough look at her face. Calm, deadly, she had moved across the pit, decimating her opponents with a brutal force that left him in awe. The only sounds had been blade on blade, tearing flesh, and the screams of the men who fell beneath her. At the end of her match, a collective breath had loosed from the lips of the audience. He'd discovered later that they called her Silence, and he understood why.

Bryan let out a sigh as he adjusted his frequency to match that of the Golgara Port Authority.

"Identify and state your purpose," came a bored voice from his comm. Bryan rolled his eyes before responding.

"TGE 1, Bryan McKenzie. Registration number: HPNM135579; License number: TN7682235. Unload, refuel, restock. ETD 2 days." Bryan kept his voice controlled. Golgara PA occasionally got their jollies messing with shippers, over-riding their systems, cutting off life support. Dropping like a rock out of the sky didn't sound like the best way to start his day.

"TGE 1 you are approved for landing. Level 3, Dock B. Enjoy your stay on Golgara."

Bryan snorted as he adjusted his frequency again. Like any person in their right mind could enjoy this hell hole.

* * *

Jack was pissed. She'd walked out of the Floors and headed straight to the military surplus store that Zeke had given her directions to. She picked up a duffle, new boots, and enough clothes to last her a while. After that, she had stopped in a music store and loaded up a data chip with a variety of local music as well as some old Earth music she remembered liking as a kid.

She'd felt the tail on her the second she had left the Floors. Now, three hours later, she was sick of the feeling of being watched. She glanced quickly at the small map in her hands, noted a convenient alley way, and ducked into it. If she was being tailed, and they didn't know any better, she'd wait them out. If she was just being paranoid, well, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Shortly after ducking into the alley way, she heard soft footsteps approaching. She pulled a shiv from her pants pocket and waited. When she saw the shadow, she darted out, snatching her unsuspecting pursuer by the throat.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't ghost your ass right now," she growled into the girl's ear.

The girl who'd been following her sobbed and sounded like she was trying to form words.

"Don't fuckin' cry," Jack ordered. _Or I'll give you somethin' to cry_ _about_ was Jack's mental addition, and she couldn't for the life of her remember where it was from. A man, a big man in a black shirt. She bit her lip, frowning.

"I just wanted to talk to you," the girl locked under her arm informed her. Jack shrugged and let her go.

With a wet hacking noise, the girl gulped in air as if she'd never had it before. Jack took the moment to really look at her. Dirty hair that someone may have once called red, full of knots. A vaguely round face, strong nose and chin with wide blue eyes. She had small lips, which Jack found strange since they didn't fit her face. Then again, neither did the scar running from cheekbone to chin.

"So, start talkin" Jack said with a shrug. The girl simply nodded.

"My name's Lyla. You saved me the other night, in the Floors. I…I got sold after my baby was born. I'm not really a fighter…I've never been much for defending myself, but my," here Lyla paused, looking uncertain. "I should say the man who used to be my boyfriend…He needed the money and there was no way I could have made what he needed working the streets."

Jack stared at Lyla, incredulity written clear on her face in the form of parted lips, a cocked eyebrow.

"It's just that, I've been watching you, and you looked like you were heading to the port and…um…I really need to get off this planet. I mean, if Max finds out I got bought, he's gonna freak and, um…I just need to get away from here. I'll die if I don't."

Jack continued to stare, mental gears clicking away. What would he have done?

_**Would've ghosted her ass before she could start talkin' you idiot.**_

_Silence, shut the fuck up_, Jack snarled internally.

_**Really, look at her. She's a liability. I know what you're thinking and it ain't good.**_

_Silence, really, shut the fuck up. 'Sides, he wouldn't have. She's just a kid._

_**And?**_

_And you don't know shit, so shut UP!_

Lyla watched the woman's face, suddenly realizing that this may be a bad idea. Her features tightened and relaxed, eyes shifting between colors. Lyla may not have known much, but she definitely knew crazy when she saw it. Still, the woman had let her live, and she needed to take the chance that she'd do it again.

"How old are you, kid? 18, 19?" Jack asked finally.

"I'm…16," Lyla whispered.

_Shit, 16 with a freakin' kid. _

"No," Jack said firmly, heading back to the street.

"But…" Lyla's voice held a note of terror.

"Fuck no!"

"Please! Please wait, take me with you, I know my way around a ship, my dad was a mechanic," Lyla called after the retreating figure.

_God damnit, was I this needy? Did I look at him the way she's looking at me? Shit, small wonder he left. I would've killed me…_

"Fucking fine," Jack snarled. "Let's go." She didn't wait to make sure the girl was following.

"Can we just stop at my place and get my stuff?" Lyla asked after a while. They were back on the street now, Jack's twin blades glinting in the red sun, causing even the scum of the planet to give them a wide berth.

Jack stared at her, knowing for a fact that taking on a kid was a terrible idea…Knowing for a fact that someone else had had this moment seven years ago.

She nodded, and followed Lyla down the grimy, winding streets of Golgara City.

* * *

A/N: Thank you again to everyone who has read/reviewed/put me on alert. This has been brewing for a while, so I'm trying to take it slow, but I'm glad that others are (so far) enjoying the ride with me.

LiasonFan2: Ah, you make my black little heart want to beat. Thank you for sticking with me, and for reviewing every time you read. The big man has been strangely reticent so far, but I figure he's just biding his time. Jack's been talking up a storm, though, so that's been fun.

Amanda: Thanks for reading! Great questions! I can't answer a thrice-damned one of them though.

Rageful Jewel: Your comment made me spit coffee at my key board! *huge grin* I was hoping someone would pick up on that remark.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick or any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Chapter 6

Lyla led Jack through alleyways and side streets, stopping every few minutes to look over her shoulder. Jack tried not to growl in annoyance. She would have been able to tell if someone was following them, and the girl's suspicious behavior was starting to get them looked at.

"Pull that shit one more time, I'll slit your throat and leave you here," Jack growled after the tenth stop. She watched as Lyla paled.

"What?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Stopping, turning. You look guilty of something, and guilty people get noticed. I just won my way out of that place, and I am not going back just because you're acting like a paranoid bitch."

Lyla, if anything, paled further, but nodded her head, understanding. Jack felt a momentary twinge of guilt for speaking so harshly, but this girl was going to have to learn that, in Jack's world, there was only one way that things went, hers. Anyone who had shit to say about it could take it up with the business end of her blade.

Lyla firmed her step up and started to lead Jack more confidently through the streets. Jack nodded in silent approval. She had to hand it to her, the girl definitely caught on quick.

Lyla finally turned onto a small street with homes on either side. Well, the term homes being used in the loosest sense of the word. Aluminum plating, clear plastic windows, bits of this and that made up a row of shacks. Jack hadn't seen people living like this since she'd been 12, living on the streets. Of course, back then, even having a place to rest her head without having to fight for it would have been nice. She shook her head, jarring the memories loose, and followed Lyla into one of the shacks.

"So, what's your name?" Lyla asked as she lifted the plastic sheeting that passed as a door. Jack paused, just for a second, to let her eyes adjust, hands dropping to rest on the blades on her hips, ready to tense and lodge them in a throat if necessary.

"Sabriel Nix" she murmured, unused to the name, but surprised at how easily it rolled off her tongue.

"Huh...Not what I heard ya called," Lyla muttered.

Jack fixed her with a glare, let a low growl trickle out through her lips, let a bit of her animal flash in her eyes.

"Hey!" Lyla said, holding up her hands in a pacifying manner. "Not saying I'm gonna bring it up, just sayin' that's not what I heard ya called. Must get confusing, having all those names running around in your head, trying to figure out which one's being said." Lyla sounded almost sympathetic, and Jack laughed, soft and harsh, a quick derisive noise.

Yup, five names, two distinct people. Silence's snicker echoed hers, and she found herself surprised. Silence didn't think anything was funny, ever. Jack found herself wondering who this kid was that she could make Jack want to take her along, and make Silence consider not snapping her neck. She shrugged. They'd puzzle it out later, for now, she wanted off-planet as soon as possible, and that meant getting to the port.

She waited in the hall, heard Lyla's soft voice, another woman's in response. Finally, Lyla came back towards her, a duffle bag in one hand, backpack strapped to her front, and a sling on her back.

"What the hell is that?" Jack said, pointing.

"Not a what, who. That's Michael, my son. I can't leave him here to…"she paused, biting her lip and looking down. "I just can't leave him here," she finished with conviction.

Jack watched the tears come to stand in her eyes, but Lyla forced them back, refusing to acknowledge the weakness. Jack sucked on her teeth, considering. If she got caught, again, she couldn't afford to have to look out for a kid…_and_ her kid. She also couldn't just ask Lyla to leave her baby here, and she had agreed to bring her off planet. A long time ago, a man had told her that without your word, you were nothing, and Jack tried to remember that as she made her decision.

"Fine," she said finally. "You got any money to put towards passage?"

She watched Lyla let loose a nervous breath as she nodded. "Yeah, I've got a little. If it's not enough, probably won't be, then I can try to barter my services."

Jack stared at her, confused. "You'd act as some guy's whore for a few weeks just to get passage out of here?"

Lyla snorted and giggled. "No, stupid, I told you, I'm a mechanic. Leaving that other shit behind the second my boots leave this soil." She sounded so young but so world wise as she said it, and what remained of Jack's semblance of a heart went out to her.

They left shortly, heading out towards the port.

As they stood at the greeting desk running over the lists of ships accepting passengers, Jack frowned. Half of these sounded like merc ships, the other half were shippers and freighters. Not a single true passenger ship in the lot. Finally, her eyes settled on one that sounded promising: TGE1, and it was leaving port tomorrow morning at 0500. Perfect.

They wandered out to the docking bays, looking for the one listed for TGE1: Level 3, dock B. Bryan McKenzie, B&E Shipping was the name it was listed under. When they arrived, Jack gestured to Lyla, a simple swat to the right and finger to her lips _stay back, stay quiet_. If Jack's instincts were wrong, or if someone recognized her from her old bounty pictures, she wanted Lyla to still have the opportunity to run. Lyla nodded to show her understanding and slipped back into the shadows of the ship.

Jack moved around towards the front, saw a pair of legs sticking out from near the landing gear, heard the owner of said legs cursing up a blue streak. She sniggered, momentarily. Man could've made Silence, hell, could've made _Riddick_ blush with his mouth.

She cleared her throat noisily and the legs tensed, slid down and she looked at the man who owned them. Flame red hair held back in a ponytail, pale skin, green eyes, and generous lips were the first things she noticed. She let her eyes roam over his face for a moment, knowing her eyes were safely hidden behind her glasses. His eyes looked kind, and Jack found herself surprised. Kind people simply…didn't find their way to Golgara.

"Can I help you, little lady?" he asked after a minute of shared evaluation. Jack felt herself bristle at the moniker, but shoved it down. She needed off planet, he had a ship, she'd have time later to teach him that she didn't like pet-names.

"I saw that you're accepting passengers. That still true?" she asked finally.

Bryan stared up at her. She was tall, for a girl, and he thought she looked far too young to have so many scars, but when his eyes fell to the sword hilts strapped to her back, he understood. She was a Glad, or at least had been. He felt a spark of recognition as he made the link between the girl in front of him, and the animal thing he had seen the one time he'd been to the Floors.

"Yeah, still true," he said hesitantly. He wasn't sure how comfortable he felt having someone like her on his ship, but if worse came to worst, he could always dart her with a tranq gun and throw her in the cryo-chamber.

"We've got three. How much would that run us?" Jack asked, settling into bargaining mode. Abu had made sure to educate her on the finer points of haggling when she was a young girl, wandering with him through the markets of New Mecca. She fought back the smile at the memory of how he'd regretted it when she used the skill to wriggle out of chores.

"Three people…5 weeks out…I'd say 6000 each," Bryan threw out a higher figure than any sane person would agree to, and was gratified when she laughed at the figure.

"Unless you've got some really fantastic set-up here, no way is that reasonable. We'll do 1000 each, and throw in our respective skills."

Bryan pretended to think it over. "What skills?" he said finally.

"My kid sister's a mechanic, knows ships like the back of her hand. I worked at a security firm for a computer company, and…I know my way around personal security, if you catch my drift." Jack flicked her chin towards the hilts glinting on her back.

"Hmmm…" Bryan knew that Evan would probably be pleased with any extra profit, but that still sounded too low, even just to cover the extra food they'd require. It would leave barely any money left over. "2000 each, _and_ you throw in you 'respective skills' and we're square."

Jack mulled it over. It really was a fair amount, and she didn't mind trying to dust off her old computer skills, but it would depend on where he was going.

"What's your next drop?" she asked, not agreeing yet, but not saying no outright either.

"New Mecca, Helion Prime. Like I said, it's five weeks out," Bryan answered, cocking his head to the side and causing a lock of hair to fall, dancing in the slight breeze.

Jack felt, for just a moment, like the ground beneath her feet fell away. She felt a sick rolling in her gut, and swallowed against the instant nausea. She took a deep breath and tried to act nonchalant. If anything, they could simply land and immediately board another vessel. She needed off Golgara something bad, and so did Lyla. She cursed herself for agreeing to let them come along, but there was no help for it now.

Finally, after a long moment of deliberation, she nodded, one sharp jerk of her head up and down before making a _come forward _gesture to the shadows with her right hand.

Bryan stuck his hand out, and they shook, sealing their deal. A soft coo drew his attention and he looked at his other two passengers. Well, one and half passengers, he amended. On the impossibly young girl's back was a happily gurgling baby, and Bryan suddenly felt sure that Evan was going to beat his ass all over the 'verse for agreeing to book them on the ship. Young women were bad enough, but a baby? _Shiiiit_.

"So, what's his skill set?" he asked finally. Jack let out an amused noise that may have been a laugh, and the other girl giggled.

"Well, he can soil a pretty mean diaper, and no one could take him down in a milk-drinking competition, but other than that, it's mainly just being so god-damn cute," the smaller girl offered with a smile.

She stuck her hand out, and Bryan took it. "I'm Lyla Nix, and this rude lady here is Sabriel, my sister. Nice to meet you Mr…?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"McKenzie, Bryan McKenzie." He pumped her hand twice and let it go before offering his other hand to the girl whose name he now knew. She took it, firmer this time, and he was surprised at how rough her skin felt. Then again…if he was right, and she was from the Floors, it would make sense.

"So, about those skills, Mechanic Girl. My landing gear's fucked six ways 'til Sunday. Anything you can do about that?" Bryan was really hoping she could, since otherwise they'd be here an extra few days at least while he tried to figure it out.

Lyla beamed, already feeling more useful than she had in years. "Sure thing!" She dropped her bags, and handed Michael off to Sabriel, who held him awkwardly away from her and looked at him like he was a bomb.

"He's not gonna bite you, Sabe," Lyla cajoled.

Jack grunted, not amused, but tucked him against her shoulder. Michael, for his part, was happy to get his pudgy little hands wrapped into a new kind of hair. He promptly tugged a lock of curls in his fist and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, gurgling. Jack curled her lip and tried not to jerk away.

Lyla disappeared under the ship, and was promptly back out, looking at Bryan with laughter in her eyes. "You don't know much about the technicalities, do you?" she asked.

Bryan blushed and gave her a sheepish grin. "No, not really…" He knew a few basics of caring for a ship, but for the most part got any other problems handled when he docked for a load or unload.

"Your hydraulics are dried out. All you need to do is add fluid," Lyla supplied. She was gracious enough to leave the implied _idiot_ left unspoken.

Bryan wiped a hand over his face, now flushed with embarrassment. _Smooth, McKenzie, real smooth. Two pretty girls on your ship for five_ _weeks, and you look like a colossal dumb-ass_. He could practically hear Evan laughing at him.

Lyla picked her bags back up and took Michael from her sister, who looked nothing but relieved.

"We're going to go stock up on a few things. What time should we be here in the morning?" Jack asked.

"Liftoff is set for 0500, so probably an hour before that, just to get settled in," Bryan replied, making a mental note to do a quick sweep through of the ship that night. The girls nodded, both shaking his hand again, and headed off into the growing twilight.

He watched them walking away, smiling appreciatively at their figures. Lyla seemed young, way too young to have a kid, but the other one, the fighter, she seemed closer to his age. Maybe the weeks would pass by a little faster with attractive female company. He grinned to himself as he headed off to the cargo area to get the hydraulics fluid.

Evan was going to be so jealous.

* * *

Riddick snapped awake to the incessant beeping of his comm screen. He had a message waiting for him. Rolling the kinks out of his neck, he leaned over and called up the reader. There were no words to the message, only an external link. He was about to delete it when he noticed the name in the file extension.

Riddick frowned.

He didn't recognize the comm number that the message originated from. He knew the Imam was one of the few people who knew how to contact him. Could this be from Jack? About Jack? It could be a trick, a tracker file meant to locate him. Riddick weighed the options as he stared at the blue words. If it was a tracker, life as Evan was over, done with, and it was back to running and killing. But…but…If it really was something about Jack, it just might be worth it if they could find her.

Decision made, Riddick opened the link.

His fingers dug holes into the metal arms of the chair, eyes blazing fury, but he did not look away.

As it turned out, he wasn't the worst thing in the 'verse.

* * *

A/N: Hmm…Methinks the real Riddick may soon be stepping up? Something wicked this way comes….

Hold your breath

James Ramsey – Thank you ^.^ It's written, the meeting…Now if only I could get the here to there plot bunnies sobered up…

LiasonFan2 – Seriously…I grinned so huge I split my lip. Not sure what I'm doing to earn your dedication, but I sincerely hope I keep doing it!

Elizabeth Cords – Oh, he's coming…And, yeah, he'll probably take over in an epic, bloody fashion. Hope I don't disappoint! And as far as the blue-eyed devil? :whistles innocently: Mwahaha!

MercuryAshlingPrincess – Ta-dah! I hope you continue to enjoy the journey with me.

Rageful Jewel – The meeting will happen…I've got a very distinct vision for it (it's already written!) and let's just say…It's interesting.

All others: Thank you for continuing to read, alert, and favorite this story!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick, or any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

A/N: Remember that note about things going darker? Here's where they start to. Depictions of torture and sexual assault, folks. If this turns your stomach to read, stop reading after Lyla's sequence.

Chapter 7

Blink watched her go with sad eyes. He crossed his office to his small wet bar and started to pour himself a scotch, then decided against bothering with the glass. He intended to lock the door and get blind drunk. He knew he didn't have very much time left in this life, so he wasn't worried about any long term effects.

When the slavers had first brought him an angry, gnashing girl two years ago, he'd seen her potential for brutality. During her time on the Floors, that potential had been honed to the point that she could now take down a man in less than a minute without any semblance of effort. He'd had his hand in her creation, just as he'd had his hand in the monies that were exchanged, always with her name attached.

The slavers had been so proud of themselves that day, presenting him with Riddick's whore. That's what they'd called her, saying she'd been his plaything at the tender age of 13. Bullshit. Riddick was vicious, a stone-cold killer, but he wasn't a pedophile, never had been.

After her incident, two months into her time as a Glad, Blink had begun slowly sending out inquiries, not buying what everyone else did, not believing for a minute that Richard B. Riddick was dead. Just the snap of fire in Jack's eyes when someone mentioned anything to do with the renowned killer proved he wasn't.

Just recently, he'd finally made headway. No, Riddick wasn't dead, simply hiding, a new name, a legit business. When he'd found this out, he'd dug back through his vid-log archives and found the filth that the slavers had left with him, a memento for Jack of the harsh affections of the mercs who caught her, and the slavers who'd brought her to him.

Blink's stomach still turned at the thought of what they'd done to her. They'd tried so hard to break her, every way that men can break a woman, and through it all, she'd fought them, laughed in their faces.

"You are so gonna die, motherfucker!" A maniac smile, blood pouring from her mouth.

That image was forever burned into his brain. Raped, bleeding, tortured, she had cackled over what would happen to the men who had taken her.

Blink spliced the videos himself: footage from the merc ship she'd been taken on, from her time with the slavers and, finally, Silence killing with abandon on the Floors, bodies falling at her feet with a smile on her lips. He had only had to stop to vomit three times. By the time he'd gotten up the courage to send it, she had won her final battle. He sent it to the recipient anyway.

Why had he done it? Blink wasn't exactly a man of high morals, and he would have sold his own grandmother for the right price, but Jack, beneath the exterior she'd been forced to grow, was still a good girl, a smart girl who liked history and ancient art, and video games. He'd gotten to know her, slowly, and had come to think of her like the daughter he'd never had.

Blink had no hope of getting justice for her. His hands were just as sullied as the men who'd taken her, used her.

Riddick could though.

Blink took another swallow of scotch, not even wincing as it burned down his throat. He was hoping that he hadn't read the situation wrong, hoping that Riddick would respond. If he did, Blink was as good as dead. For this one girl, who still harbored a spark of hope for redemption, he accepted that.

He called up the stored holo he had of her and the guard, Ezekiel. It had just been the three of them in the gym one day, sparring. Zeke had, for some reason, tickled her, digging his fingers into her ribs. Shocking them, Jack had laughed, one loud continuous peal of joyous noise echoing from her mouth. Blink had recorded it, a short moment of mirth in a world dedicated to blood and fear.

Now, he watched her face, saw the little girl that was still buried inside her. For that little girl, he'd die.

Blink smiled, surprised at how genuine it felt.

* * *

_Lyla was running for her life. As she ran, her jeans rubbed her raw, forcing mewling cries from her lips with every step. She'd been off the market too long, she had just given birth, and now he wanted her back on the streets. _

_ She heard/felt a pop and tear, and a fresh wave of warmth flooded between her legs. Her stitches had torn, and she was bleeding anew._

_ As she rounded a corner, she came to a crashing halt. They were there, all of them, all the men she'd serviced in the name of "love", and they were all waiting for her._

_A hand grabbed her shoulder, and she was spun around. _

_ Max._

_ She let out a whimper, the pain in her chest matching the pain between her thighs. As he reached for her belt buckle, she heard the draw of metal on leather, and two distinct footfalls. She turned in his now slack grasp. In front of her, a tall woman bearing two deadly looking swords was whirling them madly, cutting down the men who had used her. Beside the woman, a tall, heavily muscled man was taking care of his own number._

_ Line after line of bodies fell at their feet as they fought together._

_ Max grabbed her throat, slammed her into an alley wall, tore her pants down around her knees. The wall was stone, scraping against her face and she whimpered again. Violence always made Max hot, and when Max was hot, Lyla got hurt._

_ Suddenly, the two before her turned, moving as a single unit. Shivs appeared from hidden spaces, both thrown expertly, showing the pair's deadly grace. There was a hot spray of warmth on her neck, a groan, and a thud. Lyla turned again, grabbing at the waist of her jeans, and looked down at the dead body at her feet, a pleased smile on her face._

_ The woman walked towards her, the man following, stalking the shadows._

_ "Gonna have to learn to kill if you wanna run with the wolves, cub," Jack whispered as she leaned in, invading Lyla's space._

_ Lyla smiled, stooping, and plucked the two shivs from the neck of her dead lover. She wiped the blades clean, reverently, before handing them back to their owners. Their matching purrs of approval made her warmth burn hotter._

* * *

Lyla shot up in her bed, breath coming in harsh gasps. She looked at the woman sleeping in the bed across from her. Her hand was curled around the handle of a shiv, as if ready to kill even in sleep. Lyla watched her eye-lids shudder. 'Sabriel' must be dreaming. Lyla yawned and stretched, popping her spine as she did so.

Lyla, at the moment, wasn't sure why she trusted the woman so much. Simply because she hadn't killed her when she could have? That wasn't exactly a medal earner. There were plenty of people who went around not killing all their lives. Lyla didn't really know any of them, but she knew they existed. No, it was something more than that. One broken soul recognizing the other, both looking for a rock to cling to in a storm.

Lyla smiled at that image, trying to picture this hard woman clinging to anything. Her mind went back to the dream as she tried to memorize it, hold tight to the images that she knew she would eventually draw out in loving detail. Who had the man been?

She tapped her lips in thought until a small cry brought her out of her reverie. Michael was awake and informing her in no uncertain terms that he was hungry. She lifted her shirt and brought him to her breast. As her son suckled greedily, she continued to picture the man from her dream, and thought about what was to come.

For some reason, Lyla had been granted the opportunity for a new life. She could go anywhere, do anything she wanted. Maybe even go to school…That brought a smile to her lips, and as she watched her son feed, she promised him with silent looks and gentle touches that things would be better, for him.

* * *

Riddick's eyes were glued to the screen. The video was grainy, the sound tinny to his ears. It was a reproduction, looked like security camera feed. On the screen, he watched as a body was thrown into a room, a clink and a crash echoing as a chained figure met the floor. The loose flowing shirt and pants the figure wore were torn and bloody. As she moved, her head scarf fell to the floor revealing a mass of tight-curling hair. Her growl of annoyance echoed through the speakers.

As she turned on her side, trying to leverage herself up in spite of her arms cuffed behind her back, her chained feet, Riddick sucked in a breath. If the Imam hadn't sent him pictures, he wouldn't have recognized her. Her face had filled out, though she still had a childish pout to her lips. As she righted herself, her breasts pressed against the light material covering them. He watched her shiver and look around, calculating, evaluating her surroundings. Her eyes landed on the ceiling, just outside the view of the camera, and he watched her lips form into a smile. She looked ahead of her, head cocked to the side, listening.

He watched Jack take a deep breath as she lowered her shoulders. Heard the clank and scrape of metal on metal. Her hands were hidden behind her back but he heard a grunt, and knew what she was doing. He'd taught her how to do it, and he felt a flush of pride when she lifted her ass and started to scoot her legs back through the loop of her arms. Apparently she'd taken his lessons on escape seriously.

He watched her stand, heard the pop of joints. Her eyes trailed back up to the ceiling and she bent and tensed. With a concentrated leap, she swung up, hands grasping onto some hidden hold, and she swung out of the camera's range of view.

The scene cut away and faded back in with the sound of a door opening and closing.

"Hey, girlie," he heard a voice call from off camera. The quiet clink of metal was the only warning she gave as legs flashed out in front of the camera followed by a choking sound. The man twisted into view, followed by shackled ankles clasped around his throat. Knees appeared and clamped on either side of the man's head and with a decisive snap, he fell. A soft thud of landing and Jack reappeared, smiling down at her handiwork. She flipped him over so his back was on the floor and began methodically searching his pockets. When she found what she was looking for, she smirked. She held the scanner to her wrists and the cuffs fell away. The ankle cuffs were harder, a long chain and lock system. She searched the man again and came up with a shiv. She sat in the center of the floor and began picking at the cuffs, grinning in triumph when first one then the other fell away.

"Fucking mercs. Dumb as rocks and twice as useless," she snarled. He watched her jaw work, watched as she spit on the body of the man she killed. She stood and delivered an unnecessary blow to his head, causing his neck to loll to the side.

She kept the shiv, slipping it down the back of her pants. She disappeared from the camera's view and the scene cut away again.

His stomach turned as the next scene came up. Jack, chained again, lying on her back, bucking wildly to dislodge the merc sitting on her chest.

"The man said we couldn't touch your pussy," he heard a low voice snarl out along with the sound of a zipper being undone. "Couldn't pop you in the ass, 'cause they check that shit where you're going." The man's hands slid into his pants, drawing himself out. He dug a hand into her hair, tugging viciously.

"Didn't say nothin' about your mouth."

Riddick watched Jack squirm, bucking harder, twisting her face away from the man's crotch until a knife appeared at her throat and she stilled. He pulled her face towards him.

"I feel teeth, I slit your throat. If you're a good girl, maybe I let you out of them cuffs. Suck, bitch." Jack opened her mouth, letting out a growl as he plunged into her. Riddick felt an unfamiliar sensation in his throat, realized it was bile, choked it back.

A harsh cry, the sick sound of tearing flesh. The man was screaming like a girl, knife fallen away from his hand as blood gushed where pieces of him should have been. Jack spat out a lump of flesh and blood before shouldering him off, laughing. Tried to roll to capture the forgotten knife, but more bodies appeared in view. A booted foot met her temple and she stilled.

Fade out.

Riddick paused the video. He was a killer, the most feared man in the universe, and the fact that there was still another 80 minutes of video left made him feel queasy. He felt his blood boiling in his veins, his animal gnashing its teeth in bitter rage. His vision shifted, swirled. If any of these fucks were still alive, they were going to regret ever even looking at her.

He clamped down on the swelling burst of fury that thrummed along every inch of his skin. He would watch it, the whole damn thing. If Jack had experienced it that was the least he could do. He found himself torn between wanting it to end with her still alive, having survived the degradations, and dead, not having to remember them.

His hand was steady as he selected the screen's play command.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick. I make no profit from this work.

A/N: A few points of light, but for the most part, we're still in the shadows here. Depictions of torture, sexual assault, and violence. If this makes you squeamish…come back next chapter.

Chapter 8

Riddick's eyes felt like they were melting into his skull, and he made himself blink. Apparently Jack castrating a crew member had made the rest of the mercs nervous, and they had begun to take her seriously.

After knocking her out, someone must have stripped her.

Now, Jack dangled from a chain, arms bound at the elbows and wrists, shackled feet barely making contact with the floor. Her head lolled off to one side, but the steady rise and fall of her chest showed she was alive. The barely perceptible flicker of her eyes showed that she was awake.

The door swished open outside the camera's view and a familiar figure entered the scene. He approached Jack, head cocking to one side and then the other as she trained her eyes on him. Riddick growled as he watched the man reach a hand out and stroke it over a tattoo on Jack's ribs before letting out a small laugh.

The man was followed by three large, hulking figures, all with guns trained firmly on the chained girl. For her part, Jack seemed unfazed, smiling at the man who stood before her.

"All these big men for little ol' me?" she simpered.

"Ain't nothin' little about you, baby," the man replied, reaching out and grasping her breast, squeezing her nipple.

"Too bad I can't say the same for you, big boy."

Riddick watched the man's hand fly at her face, watched her head snap back as a spray of blood left her lips. The sound echoed through the speakers and his hands fisted. Strangely enough, she laughed.

"Your mommy teach you to hit like that?" she sneered, leaning into him. She licked the blood from her lips and closed her eyes, as if the taste were pleasant.

"Get her down," the man snarled.

The other men in the room hesitated. When one of them finally got into her space to take her chained hands off the hook, she snapped her teeth at his jugular. He stepped back with a curse, and she laughed again.

"Skittish, Toombs. Very skittish." She smirked, as if she had made a joke

"Could've made this easy on yourself, little girl," Toombs taunted as they pulled her down from the hook and began wrapping her awkwardly in robes. "All ya had to do was give 'im up, just a little info exchange, and we would've been on our way." Toombs grasped her chin, leaning until he was in her face. "Still waitin' for him to save you, hm? Don't hold your breath. He's an animal, and he don't give a damn for no one."

Jack spit in his face, and he smacked her with his free hand. She went limp and the scene cut.

Riddick covered his eyes with his hand, so he only heard the next minute. Chains rattling, the sound of a struggle, Jack letting out her first real scream of terror. Male voices speaking a dialect he didn't recognize and he looked up, memorizing their faces. Tried to pretend that he didn't understand exactly why they were examining Jack, what they were checking for.

Finally, the lead man: "She is impure. We can not sell her."

His pulse sped, and Riddick snarled at the momentary lack of control.

Shot after grisly shot flashed by, Jack's fire slowly dying as she fought the violations visited on her less and less. Her eyes deadened, face turned towards the ceiling, the wall, wherever her attacker wasn't. Riddick had no way of knowing how long of a period the security footage covered, but he guessed it was a few days.

He missed the transition, but finally, there came a time where they released Jack from her chains. His face twisted into something like a smile. He was confident that Jack had simply been waiting for this moment, and would now instill terror in the hearts of her captors.

Nothing.

She didn't even seem to notice.

She had stopped making any noise or movement long before, and now she lay as if dead. She would blink, occasionally twitch, but that was the extent.

The screen blacked and faded back in, the time signature in the bottom right corner showing a 4 hour difference. Jack once again lay huddled on a dirty mat. Her right eye was swollen, a series of bruises darkening her jaw. Her lip was split and blood-crusted. Someone had dressed her in a white t-shirt that barely touched her mid-thigh.

A man entered the image, his back to the camera, stopping at the foot of the mat to drop his coat and rifle. Slipped his fingers through the straps of his suspenders, dipped his hand to the front of his pants. Jack didn't even bat an eye, didn't turn her head towards him. She was staring off to the side, facial muscles contracting, twitching and slackening. The man grabbed her ankle and pulled. She smacked her head on the wall with a thud before settling prone on the mat.

Her face and upper body disappeared beneath the man, who hadn't even bothered to disarm. He still had blades strapped to his hips.

A low chuckle reached Riddick's ears, and he perked up, paying closer attention. He watched two pale legs wrap around the faceless man's waist, locking tight at the ankles. Jack's face appeared in view by the man's shoulder, arms locking around him, a feral grin the only indication that something had changed. In a flash, she locked her teeth on the man's jugular and tore through his skin, blood gushing on her face. As the man screamed and tried to struggle away from her vice-like grip, she snatched his blades from his sides and proceeded to dig them in either side of the man's throat, silencing him.

She rolled him from her with a grunt, began stripping the body and pulling the too-large clothes on. She went to leave the room, but paused, staring up at the camera. That same predatory smile played again on her blood-drenched lips, and there was a new fire in her eyes. She leapt towards the camera and the screen went black.

A four-section screen now. Jack, running through a hallway, blades slashing at everything that moved, slitting a throat here, a stomach there. She left no one alive in her wake as she wended her way through the labyrinthine halls of what he was sure was a slavers' compound.

A new view, outside now. Jack running towards a wall, crouching, preparing to scale it. The sound of a shot, Jack staggered to her knees, tried to crawl forward. Another shot. No blood either time, tranquilizer shots.

Fade out.

The screen stayed black, and Riddick tensed, hoping that wasn't the end. Was she alive? Did he really want her to be after everything he'd witnessed?

Yes, selfishly. Jack being alive meant he had a chance to try to set things right for her, a chance to save her in this late hour. Jack's death would make revenge less sweet, less about her.

A new scene; packed dirt floor, the sound of whistles and howls. Not a security feed this time, but a handheld camera that shook with the movement of the user. A tall, muscled woman standing in the center of a ring, surrounded on three sides by bodies, raining down blows on a man in front of her. She'd put him on the defensive and wasn't letting up. Her back was to the camera, giving a perfect view of the right hook she delivered to her opponent's face. She circled the disoriented man until she faced the camera, snaking her arm around his throat and jamming her knee into the back of his, knocking him down. Her legs wrapped around him from the back in a painful looking scissor hold as her elbow locked around his throat. Riddick couldn't help but feel a little pride at her flawless execution. The man's face darkening, a small flash as a blade whipped across his throat.

Jack released the slack body, scuttling back before standing. She padded to the camera, grinning, a manic glint in her eyes, bare feet kicking up a small dust cloud.

The camera froze on her face, locking it on the screen. Text appeared.

**Killing Floors. Golgara City, Golgara Major.**

** If you want her, come find me.**

** Blink.**

Riddick didn't even process the fact that his fingers were already flying over the command console, changing his destination. At his current pace he was a week out from Golgara.

Commands entered to his comm screen, forwarding all the shipping information to Bryan on TGE1. Purging all the original files, adjusting records, removing evidence that TGE2 was anything other than a personal ship. His eyes continued to track back to the face lingering on his screen as he worked.

Later, he would watch the video in a constant loop, freezing individual frames, memorizing faces, adding them to an ever growing list of people whose time in the universe was short. He would secure Jack, tuck her safely away on the ship, and take care of business.

He promised himself that their deaths would not be quick. For all that they had done, these men would pay in spilt blood, stripped flesh. Toombs he would save for last, maybe even let Jack join him. Riddick still owed him from their time on Chillingsworth's ship. The man had died a long time ago; this just hammered the nails into his coffin.

His comm screen registered his new destination and estimated arrival period. He coiled his anger tight, feeling it wrap around his bones like a thousand burning snakes. One week, and he would see her. One week, and he would be her vengeance.

His animal purred with anticipation.

* * *

Acknowledgments (6&7):

MercuryAshlingPrincess: Your reviews never fail to put a smile on my face. Merci, Madame.

Rageful Jewel: *shakes fist* You and your predictions o.O As far as the feel bad factor, I actually didn't see it that way, though I can definitely see where the impression would come from.

JamesRamsey: Hmm…I'll have to try that, instead of frowning moodily at the muse until she gives up the goods. Yeah, Jack's not a huge fan of small, drooling creatures….And, yes; I'm thinking she's going to be pissed. We'll have to see…

LiasonFan2: Seriously, huge grins, every time.

elfenknight: Thank you, thank you. I'm excited too!

bb: Haha, I didn't like Lyla at much first either. I've written some shorts with her, though, so we're good now.

I'm not sure if there are rules for this, but, if you're looking for two different yet wholly engrossing styles of Riddick, I heartily recommend checking out the works of Elizabeth Cords and Kali-Red. I think you will find Ms. Cords' Riddick to be perfectly IC (even when she's messin' with him) As for Ms. Kali…chilling.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer : I own no rights to Pitch Black/ The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Warnings: None, strangely.

Chapter 9

Lyla was pretty sure she was dying.

Sabriel had set her a rapid pace on the treadmill in the small gym of the TGE1. When Lyla had inquired how long she should run, Sabriel had simply stared at her before responding with a gruff "'Til I say stop" before heading towards the weight racks.

Now, her boobs hurt, her shirt was sticking to her skin with sweat, and she felt like someone had injected her veins with fire ants. Michael continued to nap away in his little make-shift crib by the gym's entrance, and Sabriel hadn't even worked up a sweat as she went through push ups, sit ups, rounds at the weight bench, and hanging curl ups.

Lyla groaned as she watched her erstwhile trainer from the corner of her eye. She was beginning to think it had been a bad idea to tell Sabriel that she wanted training, wanted to be like her. If Lyla had known the tortures that would be visited on her out-of-shape self, she would have kept her mouth shut.

"Sabe…" she panted out, barely able to get a breath past the burning in her chest. "How…much…long…er?" Oooh, talking was not a good idea. The fire ants had apparently moved and taken up residence in the soft tissue of her lungs.

Sabriel looked at her, then at her watch.

"I guess you're good," she grunted as she curled up to her knees and back down.

"Thank God!" Lyla gasped. She slowed the tread mill to a stop, went to take a step off, fell on her face as her legs gave out.

Sabriel looked over at her from her inverted position, chuckling. Lyla moaned and looked at the other girl's crimson cheeked face.

"It's not fair" she murmured piteously, watching as Sabriel stretched up and released her ankles, grasping the overhead bar to lower herself. She swiped a towel over her damp cheeks and looked down.

"What's not fair?" she inquired.

Lyla made a hopeless sweeping gesture between their bodies and Sabriel chuckled again.

"Ly…I didn't exactly choose this. You work with what you're given. 'Sides, you asked me to train you, that's what I'm doing."

She padded over to the treadmill, bare feet swishing over the matted gym floor. Lyla, rolling onto her back, watched Sabriel glance at the display on the tread mill and nod approvingly.

"Nice. You completed five miles today, more than I expected from the shape you're in."

Lyla growled low, bristling at the comment.

"Hey, kid, relax. I just meant you've still got the baby weight and all. Doesn't seem like you've done too much stuff before that either."

Lyla nodded, mollified. Sabriel padded back and plopped down next to her, offering her a water bottle. Lyla accepted it gratefully.

They had been on the ship for a little over a week, and in that time, Lyla hadn't learned anything more about Sabriel than what anyone could figure out. The girl was hard as nails, quiet, and didn't like to talk about her past. Lyla found herself rambling just to hear a voice as the pilot, while friendly, was nearly equal to Sabriel in his reticence.

After they had left the port, the day before they were to take off, Lyla and Sabriel had gone about ordering supplies for the trip. It was the least they could do. Sabriel's efficiency with haggling impressed Lyla, and never once did she feel like they had gotten fleeced. They had sent a runner to alert Bryan about deliveries, and when the boy had returned, Sabriel had stared at him, taking in his bruised and dirty state, before offering him a meal. The boy had accepted eagerly, and Lyla had found herself wondering if Sabriel was going to take on another stray. But, as soon as the meal was ended, and Lyla had pressed some of her local money in the boy's hand, he had run off into the shadows.

Lyla stared up at the girl in question as she started her own round on the tread mill. Lyla prided herself on being sharp, cunning, and generally able to figure people out. Sabriel was…confusing to her. She knew that wasn't her real name, knew that she had been a Glad, a virtual slave to the fighting rings. When asked about her age, Sabriel seemed to have to put genuine thought into the question before answering "21?" with a shrug. Even Lyla knew how old she was, and she hadn't exactly had a pleasant time of life.

Then, there was the fact that, the longer she knew Sabriel, the bigger a contradiction she became. Sabriel was just as likely to be found sharpening the variety of blades she owned as she was to be playing a video game. She was almost obsessively clean, washing her hands constantly, brushing her teeth four times a day, yet she would just throw her dirty clothes wherever they happened to land and leave them.

A soft coo drew her attention and she groaned again as she crawled to collect Michael. He wasn't hungry, wasn't wet, so she simply took him in her arms and rocked him lightly back and forth. Sabriel slid a quick glance their way and smiled. As soon as she noticed Lyla looking at her, she scowled and turned her face back to the tread display.

_Then there's that_… Lyla thought, amused.

Whenever she asked Sabriel to hold Michael or feed him, she would curl her lip and grumble. Yet, whenever Lyla caught her in an unguarded moment, she was stroking his chubby cheek with her fingers, or singing a lullaby to him in a soft, lilting language that Lyla didn't know.

"Hey, Sabe?" she called softly. The girl grunted, which could be a _yes_, _what_, or _go to hell_.

"Do you mind if I leave him in here? I really need a shower…"

Another grunt from Sabriel, this time sounding more like an agreement. Lyla pushed herself to her hands and knees, took a few minutes to stretch, and limped out of the gym. She smiled when she heard the treadmill stop, followed by a happy gurgle from Michael. _And the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day…_She remembered the old story from her childhood. She whistled softly and idly wondered what to make for dinner.

* * *

Blink stared at the list he was writing.

Every single name that he could think of, every man who'd had anything to do with what had happened to a kidnapped young girl, everyone who'd had a hand in creating the merciless killer that had won her freedom so recently, was written down. Current locations, possible aliases, all of the information was in front of him in his cramped handwriting. He knew his name should be on there, too, but the man wasn't stupid. He'd known his life was forfeit from the time he'd sent that video. Now it was just a matter of time.

Blink had turned in his resignation, purged his files, and taken the few things of personal importance from his office three days prior. He'd done his best to do right by Jack, erasing any evidence of her time at the Floors that he could find. He knew that there had been promotional vid-discs made, _Silence's Greatest Hits_, but there wasn't anything he could do to change that sick shit.

He poured himself a shot of whiskey and knocked it back. He'd been on a permanent binge since he had watched her walk away. He wasn't falling down drunk, but he was just buzzed enough to feel warm, to give everything he looked at a glowing haze.

It had been a week since Jack…Silence…whoever, had won her freedom. A week since she'd shown mercy for the first time in the pit. The skin on the back of his neck was in a constant crawl. He didn't know when he would die, didn't really want to. All Blink could do was hope that he died quick, and that he was ready for it when the time came.

His fingers reached out and tapped play on the holo-player. He'd watched this little clip obsessively, trying to sear her laugh into his brain. If he could die with that laughter ringing in his ears, he could die with a lighter heart.

For the first time in years, Blink let his mind wander back to his wife, Bridget. They'd met in secondary school. He was a stupid punk at the time, selling drugs, running around at all hours of the night striking the fear of God into the hearts of his parents. She'd been smart, beautiful, an honor-roll student with a heart of gold. She never should have looked his way, never should have trusted him with that heart.

She hadn't seemed to mind his delinquency, and he had often wondered if that was part of the attraction. He was a "bad boy", a mohawked, tattooed, foul-mouthed badass, and he shocked the hell out of her father when he asked permission to marry her. He had protested at first, but when Blink had informed him that the request was simply a courtesy and they could always just run off together, he had relented.

Blink closed his eyes and remembered Bridget on their wedding day, her dress artfully cut to hide the slight swelling of her abdomen. Sure, people would figure it out when the baby was born a few months early, but no one seemed willing to call them on her pregnancy.

Blink pictured his son, Aiden; blonde hair, blue eyes, he looked so much like his mother. He'd calmed down for them, tried to go straight, stop drinking, stop running. The combination of all of the above, though, had proved too much for him to handle.

He'd gotten violent, started staying out later and later. One day he'd come home early from work to realize that they were gone. The note that Bridget had left him had been dated three days prior. Three days, and he hadn't even noticed, hadn't been home to.

He felt a tear slip from beneath his closed lids, took another drink from the glass in his hands.

He heard the unmistakable sound of the power cells in his basement shutting down; knew that, when he opened his eyes, it would be dark.

He was here.

He hit play on the holo again, opened his eyes to see her face. Closed them again, pictured his fantasy life, where he had a pretty wife, a son and daughter who loved him unconditionally. A life where he hadn't been enough of an asshole to lose his family, hadn't turned a heart-broken girl into a blooded slave.

The air in the room suddenly felt too warm, too close to his skin, swirling into his lungs like a thick stew, coming back out with more pain that the simple conversion of air to CO² seemed to justify.

"Blink?" a growl from the dark beyond the door.

"Riddick," he responded, staring into that dark.

"You know who I am." A statement, this time.

Blink nodded, knowing that the shine-eyed convict would see it.

"You know why I'm here, then."

Blink nodded, again. He found himself losing his nerve, wishing he could take back his communication. Hindsight was always 20/20, and his was letting him know just how little he was prepared to die. _Too late now_…

"I've…" he paused, trying to fight past the dryness in his throat. "I've got a list. Everyone that…hurt her. You saw it, she killed a lot of them but…not all. The men that sold her to the Floors are from a group known as The Wolves. The leaders are a set of brothers, Marcus and Gabriel Reina. No one breathes in the Wolves without their say-so. They're here, planet-side. They don't really venture too far from home…" Blink let his voice fade out. Riddick would figure it all out reading the list he'd created. Why waste the last few moments of life thinking about them? He'd rather think about Bridget, Aiden…Jack. He spared a moment to hope that Zeke would be alright. The kid didn't have too many friends, didn't seem to be able to hold on to them too long for some reason.

Blink felt the air shift by his head and knew that, somehow, Riddick had crossed the room in total silence.

"Where is she?" a soft growl, to his left, just above his ear.

"Not here," he whispered. "She won…She won her buyout, about a week ago."

A strong hand clamped down on his throat, and he felt like his head was going to explode.

"Where'd she go?" a snarl, now.

"I don't know," he choked out. "Honest, I don't know, probably hopped on the first ship off planet. Port Authority might be able to tell you. It was last Saturday, the day she was released."

The pressure of the hand fell away. Blink's eyes had adjusted, and he could just make out the big man's silhouette against the mild glow of starlight from his shuttered window. With shaking fingers, he plucked the sheet of paper off his desk and held it out. He shut his eyes again as it was snatched from his hand. Heard the rustle as it was tucked into a pocket. The air was positively electric now, and he waited, tense, for the killing blow to strike. He heard Riddick shift, only because he'd been concentrating, listening for the sound.

"Wait!"

No response. He would listen.

"If you…When you find her…Be gentle, if you have that in you. Be patient. She's hanging by a thread…It won't take very much for that thread to snap. If you can't…Stay away, for her sake. Please," Blink sighed. He'd never thought his life would come to this, begging a murderer to show mercy with a young girl. Waiting to die.

Bridget. Aiden. Jack.

The blade was quick and sure.

* * *

A/N: A little bit of normalcy for Jack (Sabriel) and Lyla. They deserve it, yes?

Acknowledgements:

JamesRamsey: I'm glad someone feels that way. I was mildly nervous about 8. I knew it needed to be done, but I kind of fought it kicking and screaming…That was the edited version -.- You always make fantastically astute observations dear.

MercuryAshlingPrincess: Many, many thanks dear lady. Your continued dedication to reading and reviewing makes me smile.

LiasonFan2: Thank you, so much. I want the reader to be as much "in the moment" as possible. It's heartening that you think I'm hitting (at least close to…) the mark.

Rageful Jewel: Having looked up what that is, I'd have to agree. It _is_ a tragedy, and I'm trying to stay true to that.

bb : Huzzah! Thank you.

Vegetable99: Welcome! Thank you for your wonderful review, you made my day.

MissConceptions: Wow…Never expected it, but I feel honored to be archived. Thank you!

Anyone else who is reading and enjoying this with me, thank you as well. Your dedication continues to push me in new directions with my writing.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Warnings: Language, gore, violence, and situations involving child harm/abuse.

Chapter 10

Gabriel Reina walked into the well-lit examination room, hips rolling like a large desert-cat stalking its prey. He walked like a man with power, like a man who knew how to use that power. He was.

In the seedy underbelly of an already questionable planet, Gabriel and Marcus Reina were kings. They were, in a word, untouchable. What passed for the law on Golgara came from their hands, keeping the peace and doling out punishment as they saw fit. Sure, there were "officers" of the "law" on the surface of things, but trace any conviction, any trial, and you would find them. It had been that way for some ten years, since their father had met his unfortunate end by way of rat poison in his morning coffee. Gabriel was still rather proud of himself for that.

The girl on the table was a perfect specimen. At 15 years old, she was on the verge of turning into a woman, yet still had the young, nubile flesh of a child. He let a hand stroke down her creamy, caramel skin, stopped to pinch a nipple the color of strong coffee. He pried her eyelids open, noting the fact that her irises were a deep, molten brown. Her hair haloed out around her head in silken ebony waves, and he leaned in, briefly, to sniff it. Perfect.

They had taken to drugging their new shipments, on top of restraints, ever since that night, two years ago, when the hellcat had suddenly gone psycho, killing most of the men in his compound. He'd sold her to the Floors the next day, with a good riddance. _Crazy bitch_.

He picked up the unconscious girl's feet, amusing himself for a moment by making her legs wobble around before setting her heels into the stirrups attached to the tables. He flicked on the lamp by his head and grabbed the clamp on the table. No need to prep, she wouldn't feel a thing. And if she did, when she woke up this little exam would be the least of her worries.

Gabriel clamped her open, examining her slowly, satisfied that she was, in fact, pure. _Like Riddick's little bitch_… He scowled at the memory of her. She had refused to cower, refused to submit to his will. He'd declared her impure out of spite, regardless of obvious signs to the contrary. Ah, well, he'd covered the tracks of his deceit well, entertaining himself with her privately before having her thrown into a common holding room.

She had slowly become cowed, stopped fighting back. If there was one thing that Gabriel Reina loved more than power, more than money, it was watching a spitfire like that dwindle and fade in the face of his prowess.

Unfortunately, for him and his workers, the girl had either been a consummate actress, or had finally snapped. Her killing spree had left 35 of his men dead, and another 13 horribly wounded. He'd been tempted to kill her on the spot, but resolved to save her for the Floors. At least there she could continue to be of some value for him, until she died.

Which, of course, the dirty bitch hadn't.

Gabriel scowled as he removed the clamp from his "patient" and threw it on the table. He snatched her ankles and tugged her out of the stirrups. Her legs pulled in such a way that her body dropped unceremoniously to the floor. He hissed in frustration and pulled her up, dumping her back on the bed. She didn't stir.

Gabriel stared down at the girl, pictured her skin lighter, hair curlier, a snarl replacing her slackened lips. His eyes narrowed at the memory.

Slamming his fist into the small bedside table in irritation, he stalked out of the room, furious.

She had somehow gotten away, managed to survive what should have been her death. Gabriel found himself annoyed, a state he wasn't used to. Annoyed, and disappointed. He would find the girl, bring her back, make her live long enough to learn her lesson.

No one disappointed a Reina and lived to tell about it.

* * *

Riddick sat back in a dark corner of a bar like so many others in the worlds. Smells of cigarettes, cheap beer, and loose women inundated his sensitive nostrils. He curled his lip and drank from his questionably clean glass. His eyes, behind his smoky glasses, were trained on a group of men at a table in the center of the bar. He recognized most of them, knew four of their faces intimately, had already visualized their deaths in lurid detail. The fifth man he didn't recognize, but he was there with them tonight, which meant he'd die with them. Guilty by association.

At the moment, he wasn't Riddick, wasn't Evan, he was just another spacer sitting in a bar, waiting for a flight out. He was being smart, laying low. He couldn't risk discovery, either of his new ident, or his old one. He wasn't ready to return to running, not until he had taken down every last motherfucker who'd hurt her. Not until he found her again.

They stood, and his eyes followed them out the door, hidden behind the shuttered safety of his glasses. He waited a minute before standing and following them silently.

He watched them walking ahead, joking, laughing out loud brays of amusement, nudging each other's ribs. He stalked closer, curious.

"Hey, you see the new shipment, man?" One of the tall, ugly ones was talking to his shorter, ratty-looking comrade.

"No, man, why?" Short and Ratty asked.

"Fuckin' perfect man," Tall and Ugly replied. "Nice ass, nice little tits. She'll probably be a screamer…"

The talk degenerated from there and Riddick grit his teeth to hold himself back from killing them in the street. They worked for slavers, and a "shipment" could mean nothing less than a young girl who was going to be sold in a market somewhere.

They were almost to the compound now. Riddick had passed by it earlier, and already knew how he would get in and out. Any man alive inside right now wouldn't be holding that dubious honor for long.

"Hey, d'ya hear?" Short and Ratty asked of Tall and Ugly.

"Hear what?"

"She got out. Bought herself out of the Floors." There was a hint of admiration tingeing Short and Ratty's voice.

"No shit? Man, she really was a crazy bitch…Think he'll bring her back?" Tall and Ugly asked with trepidation.

"I dunno. Probably. Gabriel doesn't like it when his toys don't break right…"

Riddick stopped in the shadows of the wall, slinking back into an alley that ran along behind the compound. That last sentence circled in his head on a loop, overlaying the images of Jack.

_Fuck it. Not gonna happen. When I'm done there won't be anyone to bring her back. _

Riddick closed his eyes, letting his senses take over, felt a bit of his rational side recede. "Beast Time" Jack used to call it, the times when she saw glimpses of his animal side.

He listened intently to the noises from inside the compound. Footsteps, two sets of them, directly behind the wall. Further off, a second set, doing rounds. He flared his nostrils, disregarding the scents of the alleyway. Six…no, seven men on guard duty throughout the compound. He'd have to get closer to tell how many inside. Time to move.

He climbed up and pulled himself to the top of the wall. Pressing himself flat, Riddick gave himself a minute to observe. Security cameras ran along the walls on the interior, yet there wasn't a single one on the outside. Arrogance or stupidity?

Both.

He rolled off the top of the wall, landing on his feet noiselessly, effortlessly. He palmed his shivs without a conscious thought, like they were an extension of his hands. He closed his eyes again, momentarily, in the shadows of the wall. He pictured Jack's face as she'd been on his last day in New Mecca, grinning fiendishly over some offensive joke she'd just told him in front of the Imam. Over that, he pictured her face as she had screamed long, sharp cries that had been ignored, as blood ran down her skin.

He felt a quiet growl loose in his chest, felt a little more of his intellect slip away.

He padded through the compound, allowing his nostrils to lead the way.

The shiv slipped through the first guard's throat like a hot knife through butter.

The second guard was harder. He must have heard something, some small sound that alerted him to an enemy presence. He'd gotten his chin down when Riddick went to wrap his arm around his throat. Plan B. Riddick placed his hands on either side of the man's skull, pushing with one, pulling with the other. Push. Pull. Snap.

The next five guard's deaths were nearly effortless on his part, falling under his silent blade, a slash to the carotid here, a thrust into the lower lumbar there. He didn't linger over their deaths. They weren't his real quarry. He slashed camera wires as he went, pleased at the thought of what it would look like from the control room as one view screen after another went snowy, then blank. Stalking death approaching on sure feet.

Pausing, he stooped to collect the key ring dangling from the belt of what he assumed to be the head guard. In Slam, only the heads ever held the keys. He grabbed the man's gun too, just in case. Riddick didn't tend to use guns, too impersonal, too easy, but if it was a choice between using a gun and getting ghosted, there wasn't really a choice.

Sticking to the shadows provided by the towering walls of the compound, Riddick moved towards the house, stopping only to cut more camera lines as he went. He was tense, waiting to find the next clutch of guards. When none arrived, he began to wonder why.

As he entered the mansion that was the main component of the slaver's compound, he understood.

Hubris. These guys walked so tall, thought they were so fucking untouchable, that they honestly had a measly seven guards, all of whom he'd taken out in the underside of five minutes. Riddick allowed himself a moment to chuckle, wondering when they'd lost their paranoia. He distinctly remembered watching Jack kill or wound at least 30 men. Sometime between her attempted escape and now, the Reina brothers had gotten cocky. This was good, this meant he could take his time with them. Riddick felt his lips tugging into what passed as a smile for him.

He slipped into the mansion through a ground floor window, smirking again. No alarm system, minimal guards. This was almost too easy.

He crossed the room that he'd climbed into and followed a short corridor to the basement entrance. He slipped down the stairs and over to the breaker attached to the power cells that lit the compound. He slipped a shiv into the cover, cracking it open, and entered a short series of numbers, a universal kill code that would shut the cells down. There was a soft thump and a whirring buzz as the cells powered down. His grin grew feral as the lights flickered, dimmed and finally went out. Somewhere over his head, he could hear the sounds of frightened, feminine shrieks. So, the Reinas did still keep their new ones here before sale. Riddick stored that away for later and bounded up the stairs. A soft curse and the sound of footsteps in the hall ahead of him let Riddick know that he was not alone. Slipping quietly into an alcove, he waited.

Gabriel Reina passed within inches of his waiting attacker, heedless of his presence. With the speed and power of a striking snake, Riddick's fisted hand caught the man at the base of the skull. His body crumpled bonelessly to the floor, and Riddick pulled him into a room off the hallway. His shined eyes showed him that this was a bedroom, but he doubted that much sleeping actually got done within its confines. There were sets of hanging manacles on two of the four walls, and the scents of fear, blood, and arousal hung heavily in the air. Riddick disregarded the intriguing mélange and immediately set to work hanging his victim.

When he was sure that the man was fully secured, he scanned the room for something resembling a gag. His eyes alighted on a pile of canvas strips. He pictured Jack, teeth clenched, eyes shut, lips wrapped tight around just such a strip. Perfect. Sure that the man would be out for a while, he set off in search of Marcus, the other Reina twin.

He could hear the man's cursing laid over the sounds of female whimpers. He was in the basement, no doubt trying to fix the failed power-cell breakers. Riddick stalked back to the basement level, ignoring the sounds of the brothers' captives for the moment. He patted his pocket, reassuring himself that the keys were still there.

At the bottom of the basement stairs, he paused, sweeping the room with his eyes before proceeding. The sound of Marcus Reina's voice reached his ears from the back corner and he padded towards it.

"Motherfucking piece of shit lighting system. Goddamn sonofabitch electricians don't know shit. Can't even buy good help these days, not even…"

Riddick's elbow locking around his throat, cutting off his air supply, halted the rest of his words. Riddick pulled the man's back tight against his chest, locking his arm down harder as he began to struggle. A shiv at his throat, along with approaching oblivion, caused his wriggling to lessen.

Riddick dragged the now-unconscious man up to the room where he shackled his brother, and quickly dealt him the same treatment. Assured that they weren't going anywhere, and after a quick search confirming neither of them had personal comm units on them with which to call for help, he padded to the back of the mansion, where he had heard the sounds of frightened women earlier.

There was one long wing of rooms, all with locked doors. He set about unlocking every one as he went, throwing them open to the sound of screams and whimpers. At the last room, he paused to stare down the woman he found, waiting, unchained.

"How long you been here?" he growled out at her.

"5 years, sir," she ground out meekly. He tossed her the keys. "You're free, now. Get the rest of these girls out of here." He tossed her a pile of cred chips that he had swiped. When she didn't move at first, he snarled.

"I said, GO!"

She scrambled up, grabbing a short cloak, and as he crept back up the stairs, he could hear her rounding the rest of the slave-girls up and out. Good, now he had no distractions…and nothing but time to play with the Reinas.

His smile was predatory as he entered the room in which he'd left them. One brother was awake, though groggy. Gabriel. Riddick crossed the room to him and removed his gag. It would be more fun if he could hear him scream. He watched the man's lips move, watched his throat work, and waited to hear what would come out of his mouth. Riddick had found that men, in this type of situation, either begged, or got ballsy.

"Look, whatever you want, take it. You want money? We've got more money than God. Women? No problem…Just take it, let us go, we never saw you." The look of terror in Gabriel Reina's eyes tugged on the tail of Riddick's animal, called it out to play.

"How about virgins?" he purred out.

Gabriel's reply was quick, unthinking. "Yeah, sure. I can get you anything, any type you want."

"Brunette? Tall, green eyes?"

"Yeah, man, I'll get you ten, just let me go."

"How 'bout hellcats? Pretty little spitfires with Death in their eyes? Got any of those?"

Riddick watched as a Gabriel made the connection, watched the blood drain from his face.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…" his voice came passed his lips in broken whispers.

"Gabriel, cállate la boca," came a harsh snarl from the other side of the room. Riddick turned and faced the other brother.

"So you're him, huh?" Head tilted, holding himself as big as he could. Riddick was impressed by the man's ability to posture even when dangling from a wall in chains.

"Too late to save your girl, man. Soon, it's gonna be too late to save yourself. Do you have _any_ idea who we are? Any idea who you're fuckin' with? Estamos de muerte, puta!" He spat on the floor at Riddick's feet. "We are death, hers, yours, anyone we want." His leer was almost amusing.

Riddick leered back. "Let's play a game, hm?" Menace and malice met somewhere in the middle, and out came his voice.

"What? Twenty questions? You wanna start with how tight her pussy was? Huh? Maybe how long she could bleed before passing out?" Marcus' harsh laugh over his brother's sobbing was a combination that was quickly grating on Riddick's nerves, but he remained calm, wanting to draw it out.

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'what color are your brother's intestines?' "

Throughout the long, bloody night, Riddick was able to answer that question and more.

* * *

A/N: This one took a while. I've got a lot of the next bit written, but I didn't want to jump right in. Someone calling Riddick a bitch just tickles me pink, for some reason... And, yes, Jack and Riddick are going to meet back up. It's soon, but not _too_ soon…So, thoughts?

Oh! Riddick has officially been confirmed! Sweet! That's what they're currently calling the...3rd/2nd (depends on your view of DF...) Chronicles.

Acknowledgements:

JamesRamsey: Yay interesting! And spot on as always, love.

zilly-pill: :blush: Thank you, thank you. Hope I can keep things interesting for you!

vegetable99: Thank you, so much. My muse's head is going to stop fitting through doors, soon ^.^

2angelwings: Thank you for following this story, and for your review! Jack's really fun to write, and I'm trying to keep her as I pictured her growing up when I first saw PB. Glad you like it.

MissConceptions: -squeaks and does a weird toe shuffle thing- -grumbles- Oh, bother. I hope you're happy. You've made me do the "fan-girl dance" O.o Seriously, I greatly appreciate your words. I'm trying to avoid stereotypes/clichés (at least a little bit) and I'm never sure of the success of my attempts.

MercuryAshlingPrincess: Hahaha! I guess it's appropriate that you jig for alerts, since I jig when I read your reviews! Merci, merci.

Zen007: Voila! : D

Sunshine: Welcome, and thank you for your kind, well-thought words. I visualize everything in gory detail, so I figure others can too, I'll just leave leaders for them. I'm excited too! And…No, weird. Sabriel Nix is my OC that I wrote my first "novel" about when I was 11. She was a warrior priestess, and I felt that reincarnating her here would be appropriate… But now I will have to check out Mr. Nix' work.

bb: Yes, yes. Not in the next chapter…but sometime within the next…5! Mwahaha


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein, only OCs and the plot. I make no profits from this work of fiction.

Warnings: References to gore

Chapter 11

Jack blinked into awareness, controlling her breathing, listening to the sounds of a settled ship around her. The hum of power cells, the near silent crackle of communications equipment from the next room, and Lyla's deep sleeping breaths coming from the bunk beneath her. In the past weeks, she'd become used to waking to those sounds. She'd also become used to waking from ever stranger dreams, and this one had been no exception. She sighed, resigned, and swung her legs over the side of her bunk, dropping silently to the floor. She scratched her leg beneath her shorts and ran a hand through her sweat-soaked hair before grabbing her black sweatshirt from the floor.

As she passed Michael's crib, she looked in. He slept, peacefully, and she rubbed a calloused finger over his chubby cheek, smiling. When she looked at him, like this, she was reminded of Ziza, her dusky-skinned little face smiling as she waited for her sister to pick her up from her crib, always trusting that she'd be there to do so. Of course, thinking of Ziza made her think of Abu and thinking of Abu made her think…

"No," she growled softly to herself, shaking her head to clear it. Bad enough that he'd been invading her dreams more and more often lately, hell, bad enough that she was _having_ dreams lately, but Jack would not think of him in her waking times, not if she could help it.

She walked softly to the galley, taking two mugs from the cupboard and shaking freeze-dried coffee crystals into them before adding water and popping the cups in the heating unit. She watched them rotate and thought about her dream.

She'd been sitting in a field of flowers, all colors of flowers. She hadn't actually seen real ones since she was a little girl, playing in her mother's garden back home, but she could still remember their colors. The scent had filled her nostrils, not overpowering, just enough to make her feel safe.

He'd been there, sitting next to her, looking imposing and improbable in his black cargoes and tank, the light catching his caramel skin. She sat with him, knees tucked up, in companionable silence. When he had looked over at her, goggles glinting, with that sardonic smirk on his lips, she had found herself smiling. She had leaned in, pressing her forehead to his shoulder, and his arm had reached up to rest on hers. She had wriggled closer, nuzzling his neck…And promptly woken up. Even in her dreams, she couldn't handle affection. She'd had plenty of nightmares that featured him, and even a few very surprising dreams of _that sort_, but her subconscious seemed to balk at basic signs of caring. Stupid.

The heating unit beeped and she went about adding synthetic sugar and soymilk to the mugs.

She wandered out to the cockpit and slumped into the co-pilot's chair, slipping Bryan's mug into his waiting hand. She smiled, just a bit, to herself. She had gotten used to seeing him awake when she was, and she found herself looking forward to this time with him. They would sit quietly, watching the news, discussing whatever points of interest came to mind.

"Can't sleep, kiddo?" Same question, every night.

"Not for long." Same answer, too.

They were three weeks into the trip, still two weeks out from Helion Prime, and Jack had found her dread of their destination slowly turning to a grudging excitement. She was still unsure of her welcome, but she was determined to at least see her family. After that…Jack hadn't a single clue what she would do after that. Bryan had mentioned talking to his partner when they met up again, maybe finding her a position with them. That would be good, more than good. Jack found herself liking Bryan, and anyone who was a friend of his could easily be someone she had a fair chance of tolerating. She could leave Lyla and Michael in Abu and Lajjun's care and work for B&E to pay for her schooling…

**And since when is that our job?**

_Oh, Si…Seriously, what else are we supposed to do? Keep her around? Hope none of the mercs figure out I came home and start sniffing around again? Be realistic._

**I am being realistic. She's not our kid, not our responsibility. I was against her following us from the start. Dumbass.**

Jack frowned and cracked her neck, bringing herself back to reality and the man sitting next to her, eyes intently following the news on the vid screen. When her eyes followed, she found her heart freezing, and had to quickly put her mug down on the console before she dropped it from rapidly numbing fingers.

"Turn it up, please," she whispered.

"…And in other news tonight, Golgaran businessman Alexis Reina is offering a reward for any information pertaining to the murder of his nephews, Marcus and Gabriel Reina, found just last week in their home."

The screen flashed between images of a bloody courtyard and two autopsy photos. One brother had lost his eyes, the other his tongue. Jack spared a moment to guess which one the smartass had been. The screen flashed back to a tall man who looked much like his nephews.

"They were good boys, good businessmen. They simply wanted to be left alone, and now some animal has taken them from me…"

Jack's hands fisted and she loosed a snarl as she turned off the vid screen. She stood from her chair and began pacing back and forth in a tight circle.

"Sabriel…"

"Sabriel?"

"SABE!" Bryan's third attempt to speak to her broke through her angry haze.

"WHAT?!" she barked back. Bryan simply stared at her, concern and curiosity warring over his features.

"How do you know them?" he asked softly.

She stared at him, shaking, feeling how tenuous her hold on her anger was. Silence had, thankfully, recessed to whatever shadowed corners she stayed in normally, otherwise Bryan's blood would most likely be on the floor, since he was the closest person to her at the moment.

"It's a long story," she finally managed to grind out. "They weren't good men. They were fucking slavers, and they deserved whatever they got."

Bryan stared at her, surprised by the conviction in her voice when she said it. He thought of the brutality with which they'd been murdered and figured you either had to have a whole lot of rage or be a complete psychopath to do that to another human being. And now, here he was with a girl who thought it was completely acceptable; that it was a good thing even. Awesome.

He reached out, hesitant, and brushed her arm. "Sabriel…" he murmured.

She snatched her arm away, eyes crackling blue-green fire. For the faintest second, he could swear he smelt carrion and steel in the air.

"That's not my fucking name," she snarled out. With that cryptic statement, she spun on her heel and stalked off towards the back of the ship, and presumably the gym.

Listening to her walk away, shortly hearing the sounds of thumping bass echoing from the gym, Bryan let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

He heard soft footfalls behind him and turned to find a very groggy looking Lyla holding her son on her hip, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"What's going on?" she mumbled, reaching for Sabriel's coffee cup and taking a gulp, wincing at the taste.

"There was a thing on the news…And now she's pissed. I don't know…" he mumbled.

"What was it about?" Lyla inquired, her face concerned, eyes suddenly sharp.

"These guys on Golgara got killed last week…Reynolds? Reyas?"

"The Reinas?" she whispered.

"Yeah, them, the Reinas. Sabe kind of…freaked out, said they got what they deserved but…Lyla, it was fucking brutal. They showed pictures and…No one deserves to go out like that. They had to use dental records to confirm their identity. And when I tried to snap her out of it, her eyes changed and she said her name wasn't Sabriel." Bryan left the statement dangling in the air between them. Lyla sighed and dropped into the chair that the other girl had recently vacated, shifting so that Michael sat in her lap.

"They were slavers. Everyone knew them in Golgara, and everyone was terrified of them. But they didn't just run slaves…They ran the Killing Floors. Do you know what those are?"

Bryan nodded, and waved for her to continue.

"Bryan…Sabriel's not my sister." Bryan nodded, again. He had figured out that much for himself. The girls were nothing alike, either in coloring or personality, and they didn't seem nearly familiar enough with each other to be related.

"We met, if you could call it that, on the Floors. She was a Glad, and it was my first time in a fight. I'd just been sold that week, and they put me in a group. Told me it would be better that way, that maybe I had a chance of not dying. There were nine guys, and me. They told us the person we were fighting was…ruthless, the best of the best. I figured I didn't stand a chance." Lyla paused, snorting. "I'd been in scraps when I was a kid, little brawls. You can't really avoid them, growing up on the streets, ya know? But this wasn't the type of thing I could handle, organized fighting, death battles. Didn't have a choice though. They owned my marker. So, anyway, they got us all fired up, telling us how big and bad this person was. I don't think anyone could have been more shocked than me when those doors opened up and out comes this…girl. She looked insane. She had these nasty matted dreadlocks and her eyes were…ice blue, like little chips of titanium or something. No life there, no personality. It was like looking death in the face."

Lyla fell quiet, swallowing loudly. She took another quick gulp of coffee before continuing.

"She killed all of them, all those big guys. But me, she just knocked out. The next day, they told me my buy-out had been made, that I was free. I waited for her, followed her, and convinced her to take me with her. They called her Silence on the Floors, and I'm guessing there's more to it that just a nickname. I'm not kidding Bryan, she was a different person. Her eyes changed, and she kind of had this smell like…rotting meat, or something." Lyla let the words hang, frowning in thought.

Bryan thought back to the faint whiff he'd gotten, not sure what it meant. He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to focus his thoughts.

"Lyla…It scared me, that she could think that what happened to those men was a good thing. I don't get it, at all. She seemed almost happy about it, but pissed off at the same time. I just don't know how to react to something like that."

Lyla looked over at him, finger trapped in Michael's small fist, lower lip trapped between her teeth. Finally, she spoke.

"Bryan, have you ever been bought? By another person, I mean. Have you ever had someone tell you that they owned you? That all the decisions you used to make were theirs to make now?" Her voice was so serious that Bryan looked up, staring into her eyes, seeing old ghosts lingering there. He thought back to the year he'd done in prison. It hadn't been a triple, or even double-max, but it had been enough to shake his soul. He nodded.

"Then you should be able to understand."

Lyla fell quiet, jiggling her son on her knee, staring out at the stars.

Bryan was startled out of his reverie when his comm unit beeped. Evan. _Shit_. He wasn't in the mind-frame for a reaming right now, and he had so far failed to mention the fact that he had taken on passengers, and the fact that they were young girls, with a baby, one of whom may or may not be crazy. He had a feeling that Evan would have a bigger problem with the infant than the psychotic. He shot Lyla a meaningful look and waited until she was gone before answering.

A freshly shaved Evan appeared on his screen when he called up vid-conference mode. Hair, gone; goatee, gone. His brown eyes shined out from his face with a banked malevolence. With his hand crossed over his stomach and his leg thrown carelessly over the arm of his chair, Evan reminded Bryan of a lion, sated after a good hunt.

"New look, Richards?" He watched his friends lips twitch into a smirk.

"You could say that," came his vague reply.

Bryan debated mentioning his passengers, and his forming suspicions about who one of them might be, but let it go. No point in setting Evan up for disappointment if he turned out to be wrong.

"So, I'm about two weeks out from Helion Prime. I got all the stuff you sent. Is there a reason you purged?"

Evan's face looked thoughtful. "Precautionary measures. Had some things to handle. It's done now, though. I'm following behind you. I've got a quick stop to make, but I should reach Helion Prime in about a month. Why don't you wait there, lay low for a while. Think of it like a vacation."

Bryan nodded. He knew they didn't have any new shipments coming up for at least five more weeks, and Evan was going to handle the next round anyhow.

"Sounds good. I hear it's nice there, beaches, sun," he shrugged. "If that's your thing of course. So, meet up when you get there?"

Evan nodded. "Yeah, I'll contact you when I arrive. Richards out."

The screen went blank and Bryan let out a small breath. There was something going on with Evan, he just couldn't manage to put his mental fingertips on it. Rubbing his face absently, he turned the news back on.

"Up next, Hellhound training and you: Why these vicious creatures may be the best choice for a family pet…"

* * *

*Thwack**Thwack**Whack**Smack* Jack lost herself in the rhythm of hands, knees, ankles, and feet connecting with the bag. She didn't know how long she'd been at it, letting the music and her anger drive her motions. She could feel the burning in her bare knuckles where they connected, and she knew that later she'd regret not taping them. Silence's murmured words in her head had regressed to a series of snarls and growls that came in time with the contact of her flesh with the bag.

She mentally blessed the news companies and their blatant disregard for viewer sensitivity. Due to their callous pursuit of the next big blurb, she could picture the Reina's, see all those beautiful incisions in her mind's eye. They deserved every moment of pain, every scintilla of the agony that she was sure they'd gone through. She hadn't been the first they'd taken, and hadn't been the last. In that moment, Jack wanted to find whoever had done them in and hug them…Maybe tear out their heart and steal their power, too.

Whoever, whoever…No, no, she didn't recognize that handiwork, didn't acknowledge that trademark combination of brutality and precision, no. Because if she did, if she did acknowledge it, then that would mean he must know. And if he knew about the Reina's, he must know what happened to her and…

_Nononononono, not going there, not going there. I'm fine, we're fine, we survived, nothing happened, nothing's wrong, wasn't him wasn't him, couldn't have been. Riddick's deaddeaddead and no one's heard anything about him for years, nononono._

Jack was surprised to find herself on the floor, legs having given way beneath her. She felt a stinging begin in her eyes and closed them against it, shaking her head. She could hear Silence murmuring, voice becoming stronger and louder. NO! She fought the familiar snapping feeling in the back of her skull. She couldn't let go, she had to hold on. She'd be fine.

Jack barely registered the sound of the door opening, the quiet pad of footsteps towards her. Her head snapped up and she pinned Lyla with a glare. The younger girl must have seen something in her face that screamed caution, because she stopped where she was and dropped to a sitting position, well out of arm's reach.

They were silent for a time, each trapped in memories they would both rather forget. Jack tried to focus her mind on the lyrics of the song, but it wouldn't stay put. Her thoughts kept trying to deviate back to that place, those chains. She growled, quietly, and felt Silence adding her strength to Jack's grip on reality. The cold mat beneath her body, the hot throb of pain in her knuckles that sharpened as she squeezed her hands into fists and released them sporadically. Finally, Lyla could handle the quiet no longer.

"What did they do to you?" she whispered, as if afraid of the answer.

Jack looked up, locking eyes with her new friend and, for just a few seconds, let her wall tumble. In that brief span of time, Lyla saw in her eyes everything she'd been scared of. She felt her face crumble, and felt the tears start, but she tried to hold them back. She had no right to cry for this woman, who was obviously trying so hard to protect the broken girl at her center.

Then, just as fast as it had begun, the moment was ended, and Sabriel's cold mask was back in place, the planes of her face betraying not even the slightest hint of emotion.

"So…" Lyla began, unsure of what to say. There were so many questions flooding her brain, and she had no way of knowing what the reaction to any of them would be. What was her real name? How did she come to be on Golgara? Why did she seem so nervous about going to Helion Prime? Every single question seemed loaded, and none of them felt harmless. Eventually, she settled on one that may not get her seriously hurt.

"How about breakfast?"

Jack stared at the girl sitting on the mats across from her, incredulity and relief battling for point of dominance in her heart. After a minute, she grinned, though there wasn't any real feeling behind it.

"Yeah, kid, breakfast sounds good."

Both girls got to their feet and headed to the galley, moment passed, pushed away in a dark corner along with so many other skeletons.

* * *

A/N: Insomnia + week off from the kiddies = New chapter! Yay! The muse has begun to take me strange places, here, so I would appreciate input as to how this chapter went. Love it, hate it, want to throw rocks for lack of (much) Riddick? Let me know. Reviews pique my muse's interest, and she switches to coffee instead of rum ^.^

~~Nifty~~

Acknowledgements

JamesRamsey: Heh, and that was me trying _not_ to end with a cliffie. And wondering can end in 3, 2…now : D

Elizabeth Cords: Thought you'd like that. Cursing someone out in Spanish just seems so much more badass than English… And I'm such a fan of Beast Riddick... but damn is he elusive! Look for more of him soon, though ^.~

MissConceptions: Thank you, thank you. I picture Riddick as a very no-frills killer…unless there's a point to it, of course. The Jack/Riddick meeting chapter is…soon-ish, I feel. It's written, but the timing needs to be right.

schafer: Thank you, dear. This had to be my most nerve-wracking chapter to write, so your words were reassuring. I'm new to writing fanfiction, but I'm trying to retain everything that I'd apply to my personal writing, and only change a few of the principles around. I hope the story keeps you interested!

LiasonFan2: No worries, dearest. I appreciate knowing you're still reading! ^.^ As far as anything romantic goes, I'm trying to keep the story as realistic as possible…And that's all I'll say on that.

MercuryAshlingPrincess: So much love and appreciation for your continued dedication to reading and reviewing! It really does make me smile when I read your reviews (and occasionally, I even throw in a very undignified woot…) Thank you, thank you.

All others: Thank you for continuing to read and follow this story!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Warnings: Language! **Smut**! Metaphysics?

No, really, if you're offended by smut, stop reading after Jack's break.

Chapter 12

Riddick paced the expanse of his ship. Cockpit, gym, bedroom, galley, cargo bay, back up. He'd spoken to Bryan a few days ago, got that business handled. Spoken to Imam, too. Nothing to handle, there. Still no word of the girl. Yes, yes, of course Riddick would be the first to know if she turned up. Hint of fear in his voice? There should be. Holy man had fucked up, losing the kid like that. Fucked up, and she'd paid for it. Not good. No matter, now. He'd let the animal out, reasserted his place in the universe, and the blood that had caked under his nails had almost been as sweet as the Reina's dying screams…Whimpers, more like. Now, it was a simple matter of finding the kid, dragging her ass home, and knocking some sense into her. He'd kick around New Mecca for a week or so, and if she still hadn't turned up, he'd head back the way he had come and try to track her that way.

"Jackie, Jackie, Jackie…What are we gonna do about you little girl?" he whispered to the walls.

After he'd finished with the Reinas, the list had been relatively short, a few small timers who'd paid for the privilege of being entertained by Riddick's whore. That was fucking rich. Plenty of people in the 'verse had done far worse things than he had ever considered, but somehow he always ended up being the monster. Shaking his head, he stalked back to the cockpit, tuning into a news station.

With the exception of a brief replay of a statement Alexis Reina had made, there was no mention of the deaths of the twins. To make a good thing better, no one seemed to have made any possible connection to him so far. Maybe the whole "Riddick's dead" spiel was finally starting to have an effect. Seven years ago, the second the deaths were reported, his name and picture would have been popping up on news reels and vid-screens everywhere. He allowed himself a satisfied smile.

Propping his booted feet up on the console, he allowed his mind to return to the proverbial Pandora's Box that he'd labeled The Jack Problem. Logically, he understood that she was an adult now, a woman who could make her own choices, but if he closed his eyes, he still saw her as a scared kid. He could still hear her voice, exultant, telling him she'd never had a doubt. Some part of him wanted to hold on to that kid, that one person who had complete faith in him. So he would find her, deliver her to New Mecca, and move on with his life once he knew she was safe there.

His proximity alarm beeped and he strapped himself in to prepare for descent into the atmosphere of Alistera 2. This was his last drop before Helion Prime, and he was torn between wanting to make it quick and be on his way, and seeing some of the night life. He tried to recall the last time he'd had any sort of female company, and found he couldn't. He snorted. Between business and the god-damn kid, he seemed to have forgotten who was number one. He'd have to be sure to fix that, tonight.

* * *

Jack cracked an eye open and blearily surveyed her surroundings. Her legs stung and her hair was caught on something. She reached a hand out and touched…bark. She opened both eyes, face scrunched in confusion. She was in a tree. She tugged her head to loose her hair from where it had snarled on a branch. A branch because she was in a fucking TREE. Looking down, she saw an equally confused Silence, still-dreaded head full of leaves and bits of bark. Their eyes connected, ice-blue to emerald-green, before sweeping out around them.

Jack reached a hand out and found Silence's. Without words, they began to climb down. Their feet hit bare ground around the same time. They were standing on a dry, dusty pathway. To their right, a field full of grave markers, as far as the eye could see. To their left, a huge pit with a roaring fire at its center. Jack felt flakes hitting her, and looked up to see snow. When the snow touched her skin, it turned to gray, leaving her dusty. Not snow. She looked again at the pit, and realized it was full of bodies as the sickening-sweet smell hit her nostrils. She suppressed the urge to vomit.

"Welcome, daughter," came a sultry voice from behind them. They turned, as one, to face the voice. A tall woman, with long black hair shining in curls and waves down her back, greeted them. Her violet eyes sparkled with humor, and her red lips were quirked up in a crazy smile.

"We've been waiting for you, for a very long time. You're a hard person to get the attention of, Jack."

Jack balked at the fact that the woman ignored Silence, but did not speak. She found her fingers tightening around the hand of her sister-self.

"You are probably wondering why you're here, yes? Or perhaps, where here is?" The woman's eyebrow quirked, awaiting Jack's answer.

Jack, for her part, simply continued to examine the woman in front of her. Over her simple white shift dress, the woman wore a type of ancient armor that looked to be ceremonial. If it weren't for the places that had obviously been patched after penetration, Jack would have assumed it was so. The woman's arms were covered in criss-crossing hairline scars, and there was a small scar marring her otherwise perfect lips. Jack's eyes traveled to meet the woman's again, still not speaking, waiting her out.

"I am Aurora. I've known you since you were a small girl. I must say, I am pleased with how well you've turned out. Quite the little warrior, it seems. You take after your father's people."

Jack snarled at the mention of her father. "My father is Terran. His people were Irish. Not much to take after."

She laughed, and it held the sound of wind chimes. Jack fought back a shudder.

"Oh, no, dear child. You're sadly mistaken there. Your father, your real father, was Lucien. And this, as you see it, is Lucie as it is now. But you, my dear one, can change that if you're willing to listen." Her face was so sure, so serene, that it made Jack's teeth clench.

"Ok, lady, I don't know who the hell you are, or what your game is, but my bullshit meter's going haywire. I've got enough shit of my own, I don't need your metaphysics crap. This is a dream, you're not real, and I'm waking up, NOW!" Jack screwed her eyes shut, held them closed, and opened them again.

She was still standing in the field. Under the god-damn tree. Silence's skitter-scratch laugh, like dead leaves over dry ground, just served to add to her annoyance and she shot her a glare.

"Yes, Jacqueline, a most impressive display of power. Perhaps for your next trick you can pull a rabbit from a hat?" Aurora's mocking tone was gentle, and Jack liked her even less for it. She sighed, gustily.

"There will come a time, my dearest, where you will have to choose. One choice will mean saving your life and many others. The other choice will be simpler, but the results will be devastating. Make sure that you actually use that brain of yours when the time comes. You may go now."

Aurora waved her hand, gently, and Jack was falling, falling…

Jack woke with a groan as she slammed to the floor, palms first. She stabbed a glare at her bunk, some six feet up, and grumbled, pushing herself to her hands and knees. She looked over to Lyla's bunk, but the girl slept on, peaceful in her ignorance.

Jack kept up a steady flow of grumbling as she pulled on a pair of green cargo pants and padded to the galley.

"Bullshit. Crazy-ass dream, crazy-ass woman. I would slit someone's throat for one good night's sleep, I swear…"

"Well, I guess I should go back to my room, then."

Jack spun and stared at Bryan, before blushing and grinning in a sheepish manner.

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean to wake you," she mumbled.

"No worries. Making two cups?" he inquired. She nodded.

"Always."

When the coffee was done, they sat at the table, tense silence spinning out between them. It had been a week since her outburst at the news of the deaths of the Reina brothers, and they hadn't spoken much. Jack, for her part, was simply glad that he hadn't prodded her to explain her rejection of the name he'd called her. They were silent for a while, both aware of the minefield of eggshells that lay between them. Jack decided to break the silence first.

"How long were you in for?" she asked, gently. Bryan could choose to acknowledge or ignore the question, she wasn't pushing.

He looked up, locking eyes with her. He'd never mentioned prison time to either of the girls, hadn't really spoken of it with anyone other than Evan, but somehow, with her strange intuition that he was just now adapting to, Sabriel had known. He continued to call her that, disregarding her outburst. She'd speak of it when she was ready…or not.

He looked away first, finding her eyes unnerving. "Three years. It was stupid. I got caught boosting, and I wouldn't roll on my friends. Wasn't even a max, but I've never been in since, and I don't plan to."

She nodded, sipping her coffee. "It's the eyes that give it away, you know," she offered, answering his unspoken question. "Have you ever seen animals in the zoo? There's this…fire in their eyes, like they can remember a time when they were free, and you would've been dinner. Cons get that fire, and I don't think it ever leaves them."

They fell quiet, Sabriel looking contemplative. Bryan, for his part, was wondering just how many convicts she'd run into in her lifetime to be able to make such a firm statement on their nature. He didn't ask, putting that question on the same shelf as her name. She'd tell if she wanted. There was one question that had been burning on his tongue for a long while, since he realized where she had come from.

"What's it like?" he asked, finally. She stared at him, face questioning. "Killing someone," he whispered.

She let her breath out in a soft puff and continued to stare at him before she looked away with a soft snort and a roll of her eyes. They traveled to the ceiling, and she left them there, focusing on some small scratch in the metal. She rolled her neck and met his eyes again.

"What's it like to kill someone…" she whispered his question in a tone of wonder, making it sound like a statement. Her pink tongue flicked out, wetting her lower lip. After a time, she shrugged, placing her empty mug on the table in front of her.

"What's it like to have an orgasm?" she countered. Bryan felt heat flood his face.

"Uh…I mean…What?" he stammered out, thrown off guard by her bold question.

"What you just asked me is a thousand…No…A million times more personal, so I figured maybe we were on that level." Sabriel's voice was laden with sarcasm, her eyes flashing him a fiery challenge.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," he offered apologetically. She nodded, a quick jerk of her chin, lips set into a firm line. She stood, making to leave the galley, before fixing him with another sharp stare.

"If you don't know what it's like," she whispered, "Then I sincerely hope you never find out."

With that, she stalked away, leaving Bryan with more questions than he had started with.

* * *

Riddick could tell by the way the light reflected off her hair that it was blonde. The way it crackled at the ends where they brushed her face told him that blonde was fake. Her voice, as she prattled on about something, aimed for seductive but fell short, came out nasally with a bit of a whine. She was telling him something about…school, he thought. He wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying, just the way her lips shaped the words. She had good lips, full without looking unnatural. Good skin, too, it looked smooth under the dim lights of the bar. Almost too smooth, and this led him to wonder how old she was. Her breasts were pressed tight against the silk tank top she wore, and the shadows of her cleavage made his mouth water. He took an experimental sniff, and beneath the too-strong flowery perfume, he smelled it. She was hot for him, and already wet with it. Perfect.

She had stopped talking at some point, and he hadn't noticed. He knocked back the rest of his drink and licked his lips, fixing her with a predatory smile. Her pulse sped, and her breath puffed out over her lips in a silent gasp.

"How old are you, Sunshine?" he purred at her. The shock registered on her face, just for a moment. She hadn't been expecting his question.

"22," she responded finally, perplexed. _Fuck, she's barely any older than Jack_ he thought grimly. He looked at her for another moment, thinking. In the end, he decided that he'd leave it up to her. He threw some creds on the table and stood, stopping by her side of the booth, waiting. She stared up at him, lips opened slightly, and he watched the indecision play across her face. He nodded, and went to walk away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. She stood, and her forehead barely crested his collarbone. Riddick took a moment to let his eyes travel down her body. Perfect tits, nice waist, rounded hips. Baby-makers, Jack would have called them. A flash of mischievous eyes danced across his mind. _Fuuuck, kid, get out of my head_.

Then, there was no time for deep thinking, because the girl was linking her hand in his and leading him out of the bar and down the street to a small apartment building. He followed her up the stairs, appreciating the sway of her hips. At her door, he let his hand reach out and slide down the curve of her ass, reveled in her small shudder.

She stepped in to her apartment, calling for lights. Once they were both inside, she turned to throw the lock and he moved into her space, pressing her up against the door. His lips sought hers out, assaulting them with a brutal kiss that had her moaning low in her throat. His hands wrapped around her waist, trailed down to her hips, down further to cup her ass. She moaned again when he lifted her, and wrapped her legs around him. He growled quietly when he felt her hot center press tight to him.

"Bedroom?" he asked quietly in her ear, letting his breath surge warm over her delicate skin. She let out a whimper and pointed with her free hand while her other was fumbling at his belt. He headed in the direction, kicking the door open, trailing his lips and tongue down her neck.

He tossed her on the bed, watched her as she kicked off her high heels and pulled her skirt up around her hips. She didn't bother to undress further before she reached for him, tugging the button of his pants and lowering his zipper.

He grabbed her hands, pressing them to the mattress above her head, before attacking her lips again, grinding against her. Her breath was coming out in harsh pants and she was letting out little mewling cries against his lips. He moved down to her neck, scraping his teeth against the hollow of her throat. She moaned again, digging her nails into his shoulders. He moved lower, biting one of her nipples through the material of her shirt. He felt her feet slipping into his waistband, sliding his pants down.

His hand went his back pocket, slipping out a small foil-wrapped package. He moved to the other side, giving her twin peak equal attention. He could practically feel her body humming with tension as he ripped the package open and made short work of it.

He slid up her body, cupping her and pushing her further up the bed. Kneeling between her legs, he kissed her again, deeper, a battle of teeth and tongues and lips. Breaking away, he stared down at her, taking in her flushed face, the blush that seemed to extend past her collarbones and into her shirt. He tugged at the material, freeing her breasts, and he massaged them roughly.

"How?" he ground out, already knowing the answer.

"Rough," she panted out against his lips before trapping one between her teeth.

Riddick was more than happy to oblige.

Later, as she lay sleeping, he pulled his discarded cargoes back on. He reached out; let a finger trail down her thigh, played at the bite mark he'd left there at some point. With a satisfied smirk, he let himself out and headed back towards his ship. It had been a good week. He'd gotten bloody, he'd gotten laid, and now he was on his way to New Mecca and, hopefully, Jack. His smirk widened into a grin as he pictured the fight that was bound to happen.

* * *

A/N: Huh. Urm. So, I've never actually written anything like a "love" scene before. Initially, I had this pictured going a different way, wrote it out, and that felt completely unrealistic. This felt more in-line with how I picture Riddick. Nope, I didn't really name her, since this is a one-night thing, thus unimportant in the long run. So, as always, lovely readers, let me know what you think. Even if it's "stick to violence, your smut sucks." : D Except, maybe try to be more eloquent than that, haha.

~~Nifty~~

Acknowledgements

LiasonFan2 : -blush- Thank you, lovely. I'm trying to make the dialogue/perspective feel natural, and it's nice to know when it's successful (or not)

MercuryAshlingPrincess: Yay! Jigging! The next few chapters are already written, so updates will probably be happening with a marginally higher frequency than they have been.

JamesRamsey: I'm glad you enjoyed it. I worked hard on this one, and tried to keep it realistic. The personalities thing is going to play a very important role in upcoming chapters, and while I'm taking a lot of liberties with her mental state, I'm still trying to convey that it's no picnic.

MissConceptions: Soon is getting closer! I hope the wait's worth it. And, yes, D.I.D. (aka M.P.D.) is commonly portrayed as this…easy to deal with thing, and it simply…Isn't. At all. I'm trying to do justice to the disease despite that fact that I'm using a broad (and sometimes not true) interpretation of it.

Elizabeth Cords: Oh, dear lady, how I look forward to your reviews. They're definitely on the list of "night-makers". Thank you for my pass ~.^ Hope this chapter makes up for the lack in the last. And yes…Mojitos=…Mamacitas? Hehe.

schafer: Oh, what fantastic questions. I can't answer the first two, since they kind of get addressed soon, but the third (set) I can! I make up all my OC's, do outlines and quick sketches of them before starting to include them in the story. I try to make them read as people, not Mary Sues/Marty Stues. Once in a great while, I'll write one based on a friend in real life, though.

zilly-pill: Thank you, thank you! I tend to re-read chapters a good five times before I post them, and try to stay as in character as possible. I hope you continue enjoying it with me.

Minah: Welcome, and many thanks! Haha, it's killing me a bit, especially since I've got some written and can't share, yet. I'm glad you're liking it.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profits from this work.

Chapter 13

Jack spun idly in the co-pilot's chair, letting the soft sounds of her rhythmic passage force any real thoughts from her mind. _Thunk-swish, thunk-swish_. She concentrated on the noise of her ankles tapping against the confines of the console mounting and the scrape of her bare feet on the floor. If she focused on that, she wouldn't have to focus on the fact that today was more than likely going to be a day that she lost the man she had begun to think of as a friend.

Over the past 13 days, her sleep had been taken over by dreams of all kinds. She would wake up, gasping quietly into the darkened room, convinced that there was someone just out of sight waiting to attack her. Or she would wake with tears drying in slow tracks of salt, wishing desperately that the feeling of a warm arm around her side wasn't just a ghost. It unnerved her, and she had taken to avoiding sleep when she could. She had yet to return to that place, that vast field of death.

Silence had been unusually quiet of late. She could feel her there, curled up in some place that she was somehow aware of, tucked away in the back of her mind, but she had yet to "speak". Jack didn't know what to do with that. She supposed that, when she least expected it, she'd feel that cold tendril, that little mental tug that meant Silence was trying to get her attention.

Her mind kept wandering back to the fact that dream-Silence still had the same dirty dreadlocks, the same blood-crusted skin that they had at the Floors. The realization hit her that, for this entire time, she had been in control, and Silence had been trapped wherever it was that she usually resided. Jack vowed to change this, but she was concerned with the fact that, as far as she was aware, Silence had never been the one in control of their respective body in any situation that didn't involve killing, or at least a bit of blood-sport.

She sucked on her teeth, lost in thought, and was startled when Bryan dropped into the pilot's chair next to her. She jumped, and her coffee sloshed out of its cup and onto her chest, causing her to emit a hiss and a muffled curse.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he offered quietly, handing her a rag from his back pocket. She swiped at her shirt and smiled tightly at him.

"Not a problem, my fault anyhow. I was drifting."

Bryan looked at her profile, taking in the details. When he had first met her, she had a large line of stitches on her cheekbone that had now faded to an angry-looking pink scar, with a matching cut on her forehead, near her hairline. They weren't alone, as the rest of her skin, what she allowed to be visible of it, seemed to be made up of a series of scars ranging from small and white to long and red.

A thought had been percolating in his brain for a few weeks, now, and he considered whether or not to approach her with it. He hadn't missed her moment of near panic when he had mentioned that their destination was New Mecca. This, along with the fact that she had obviously had experience with slavers, and the fact that Evan's young friend had last been traced to Golgara, made the thoughts ping fast around his skull like so many bats in a suddenly lit cave.

He had no idea how to approach her about it, though. _Hey, you don't happen to be the girl that we've been looking for who got snatched, eh?_ Or_ Hey, were you adopted by an Imam? So, how long have you known Evan?_ None of these options worked, not the least little bit. If anything, they'd probably just scare her, make her run off into whatever mental black hole she usually escaped to when she was uncomfortable. He had noticed, more and more often lately, that he would find her passed out in the gym, having worked herself to exhaustion. Classic escapist method: pretend a problem wasn't there, work it out in another way, and continue to hide from it. He supposed he could just try saying her suspected name aloud, and gauging her reaction to it. That may just work…

He glanced at the comm screen which was currently displaying trip statistics, estimated time of arrival, proposed rate of descent, and weather conditions on the upcoming planet. He tapped his fingers against his chin, calculating. They only had another four hours before landing, and he knew both girls were already packed and prepared for arrival in New Mecca. Sabriel and Lyla had been spending their "down time" cleaning like crazy when they weren't in the gym, or when he wasn't sparring with Sabriel, so the ship looked better than it ever had.

Bryan realized that, between the company and the regular meals they had cooked, he had become spoiled, Sabriel's keen eye for computers had saved his ass a couple of times, too, when he had miscalculated their route, or had accidentally approved a virus-laden file for download. She had easily fixed those, and a few other problems, and given him nothing more than a dead-pan face and a sarcastic comment about his competence.

He watched her remove her digital drawing pad from one of her many deep pockets, tap the screen a few times, and bend her head over it, stylus hovering lightly along the surface. He returned his eyes to the comm, drawing up the current news. Thankfully, this time there was no mention of any happenings on Golgara. Instead, the news anchors were engaged in some inane banter about the efficacy of different male performance enhancement drugs, and he snorted in disbelief. There was no such thing as private subject matter anymore. Sabriel's eyes flicked to the screen and he watched the corner of her lip quirk up before she focused on the pad resting on her lap. She had switched from twirling to working her leg nervously. His eyes glided to the floor, and watched her long toes clench and unclench in time with her leg's movement. A sudden image of a large bunny tapping its hind leg impatiently floated to his brain and he smiled.

"So, what are you working on, Jack?" he asked, casually. Without hesitation, she tapped her screen and set it to display mode, her drawing floating in the air in front of her face with a tight smile. He stared at her, catching her eyes, and suddenly she gasped, face moving from calm to panic in a matter of seconds.

"What? Why would you call me that?" she whispered in a choked voice. Her eyes were wide, pupils contracting with the greater influx of light.

Bryan wasn't sure what to say, so he simply continued to look at her, and she squirmed under his scrutiny, looking away and refusing to meet his eyes any longer. His hand, practically without his knowledge, reached out and came to rest on her knee, spinning her around to face him.

"It is Jack, right?" he asked softly, not wanting to frighten her. He was shocked to see tears standing in her eyes. She stared at him mutely before taking in a loud gulping breath.

"Why do you know that name?" she whispered through trembling lips.

Bryan considered how best to explain, and finally decided that the easiest way would be the truth.

"I work with an old family friend of yours. He's been looking for you for a long time, and he mentioned it to me one night, that you'd run away and I've been helping him look since. He'll be really excited..."

"NO!" Her voice was panic-laden but firm as she cut him off. "No," she said again, quietly. "You can't tell him, please…I can't face him right now and…Just, please don't say anything." Her eyes sought his out, and the beseeching look on her face made him pause. For some reason, she was scared of Evan, or of what Evan would say to her perhaps. He found himself nodding after a time, lips pursed against the heavy feeling of doubt swirling in his stomach.

She looked back down at her lap, shoulders relaxing minutely with what he assumed was relief. They sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"I didn't run away."

Jack's voice was low and full of emotions long-hidden as she spoke the words. Bryan nodded, afraid to speak, wanting her to continue.

"It was stupid, really. I was out one night. I'd had a bad day and I just wanted a drink. I met a man at the bar and we got to talking and he just…seemed to get me, ya know?" She snorted in derision, lost in the memory of that night. "I realize, now, that he must have put something in my drink, since I only had two, but everything is hazy. I don't remember much after leaving the bar. I think he led me to his ship and the next thing I can remember clearly is…waking up in cuffs." She shook her head, making another disgusted noise. "All my life I've been told that I'm so smart but that…That night proved just how wrong everyone was."

He looked at her, really looked, tried to discern some emotion on her face, but it had settled into a hard, blank mask.

"Can I ask what happened?" he asked finally.

She looked up, eyes pausing on his before flitting away.

"You can ask…"

And with that, once again, she walked away, leaving a myriad of questions in her wake. Bryan let out a loud puff of air, scrubbing his face in frustration. He began to key in Evan's comm number, and had almost completed it when he stopped. Jack had requested that he not say anything, had somehow instinctively known who he was talking about. He gnawed on his lip, fingers splayed over his keypad as if waiting for the correct option to suddenly glimmer to life in front of his eyes. Sighing again, he erased the numbers. If Jack wanted her presence on New Mecca kept quiet, if she didn't want to be in contact with Evan for now, he would respect her wishes.

She'd be seeing him in the flesh soon enough anyhow.

* * *

Jack leaned back against the door of the cabin that she had shared with Lyla and Michael over the past five weeks. She found herself grateful that Lyla had started to adhere to her strict workout routine. She was in the gym, and would be there for the next hour, until she had to come out and joined them to prep for landing.

She pressed her hands to her ribs and closed her eyes, willing her lungs to take in air and let it back out. She felt like someone had just pressed her into a vice and refused to let the pressure up. Her thoughts swirled, a mixture of expletives, _why_s, _how_s, and more than she cared to acknowledge, _Riddick_. She assumed that was exactly who Bryan had meant when he referenced the friend who was looking for her since, sadly enough, he was the only real friend she had ever had. And he had left her seven years ago.

She felt herself shaking, and crushed a hand to her lips to suppress the sharp, animalistic cries that wanted to rip from her throat. She couldn't face Riddick, not now, maybe not ever. If she did, she'd have to remember, and she couldn't do that. It had taken her too long to work on forgetting, carefully suppressing her memories, locking them away in some dark corner of her mind, never to be brought to light.

Balling her hands into fists, she brought them down onto her legs once, twice, three times, leaving behind a slow crawling warmth. It didn't hurt, it was simply enough to distract herself from the crushing wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. She doubted Bryan had intended for his words to effect her so much, and she really doubted that he understood her specific situation, but she still needed to not see him for a small time. She needed to adjust to the fact that the façade she'd clung to so tightly had been seen through.

Standing again, she crossed the room to the bunks and began to strip the sheets from the beds before flipping a switch that had them recessing into the walls, leaving the room looking strangely utilitarian. Jack scanned her eyes around the room, noting that she and Lyla were both nearly packed, two duffel bags, a diaper bag and two backpacks in a neat pile by the door. The only thing out was the material she intended to wear in lieu of a hijab, and a change of clothes for Lyla when she finished up in the gym. Otherwise, there were no signs that two women (and a baby) had shared these quarters for over a month. Jack huffed out a sigh and gathered the bedding into a pile to toss in the washing unit. She tried to ignore the tremors that wanted to run along her skin, and the quiet voice in the back of her mind that was wondering just _how bad_ of an idea going home would be.

If only she knew.

* * *

A/N: I keep telling my story how things should happen, and it keeps telling me to go do anatomically impossible things to myself. *Hoping* to post 2-3 chapters this weekend, including *you guessed it* the meeting chapter, which has been clamoring to get out. As always, dearest lovelies, read and review, it makes my black little heart feel less like a month-old mushroom ^.^

~~Nifty~~

Acknowledgments:

JamesRamsey: "Lemon cherry" had me laughing so hard that my eyes blurred! I'm glad you enjoyed it, and dream sequence explanations will begin forming soon.

zilly-pill: Thank you! 12 made me ridiculously nervous, and it's nice to know that it was fun to read : D

schafer: I'm glad the intent (not important, but amusing anyhow) came through. Thank you for reviewing!

Rayne StarDust: Welcome, and many thanks for your review! That was the point, and I was afraid that it would fall short, or be too much.

MercuryAshlingPrincess: Another day-making, grin-inducing review. As always, much appreciated. Yeah, I'll admit to being a complete fan-girl and loving growling Riddick too.

Saismaat: Welcome! I was simply…_floored_ by your wonderful, attentive reviews. Thank you, so very much, and I hope you continue enjoying this story with me.

elfenknight: My thoughts exactly! ^.^ And…no, not yet…Soon!

bb: Thank you!

Zen007: Yeah, that pretty much sums up the Big Bad…

Chaos Dragon : Thank you for the community add! It appears my little tale had joined some diverse and illustrious company.

All: Thank you for your alerts/faves/continued reading. All of you make me want to write more, and push myself further, and for that I'm forever grateful.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/ The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Chapter 14

Lyla gasped in shock as she stepped down the ramp and felt the oppressive heat of New Mecca settle on her skin like a thousand tiny weights. Nausea and a growing headache from the transition between forced gravity and real gravity left her shaking momentarily as she tried to comfort the bawling infant in her arms. Michael had already thrown up his breakfast, leaving a hot, milky patch down her back. She had changed her shirt, but she could smell it where it lay wrapped up in the bottom of her bag. She looked around, shielding her eyes with her free hand, and smiled triumphantly when she spotted a trashcan. Leaving her bags at the bottom of the ramp, she walked quickly towards it and deposited her foul shirt before heading back to rejoin Sabriel and Bryan as the exited.

Unfortunately, they both looked fine, which only served to make Lyla feel worse about how terrible she felt.

Sabriel had switched out her customary t-shirt for a long sleeved version that fell to her palms. She had also wrapped her head in what she called a hijab, so that her face was only visible from eyebrows to chin, and her hair was hidden completely. Lyla had declined a similar wrap, and Sabriel had simply fixed her with a dark look before shrugging and telling her it was her choice.

Lyla frowned, minutely, as her friend walked down the ramp. Since the morning, she had watched her change, morphing back into the cold, hard-lined woman that she had first met in Golgara. They had become closer over the last five weeks, and it pained Lyla to watch Sabriel recede in such a way.

"So, what's the plan now, cap'n?" she asked, trying to make Sabriel smile. Again, she was fixed with a stare before Sabriel loosed a small sigh, tucking the corner of her lip between her teeth. Lyla watched her face as a flicker of indecision passed over it, before she shrugged, a simple roll of the shoulders confirming that she had been hard-pressed, but had made a decision.

"We're going to my family home," she whispered.

Lyla felt her jaw drop, but caught it before it could fall completely. She couldn't have been more surprised if Sabriel had informed her that they were going to rob a bank riding on elephants. She flicked her eyes to Bryan, who was smiling in a pleased way, as if he had just received news that he wanted, but hadn't expected.

"What…" Lyla began, but Sabriel waved a hand.

"It's a long story. A very long story…And I'm going to need at least 7 shots of whiskey to tell it. For now…My adoptive family lives here, I haven't been home in over two years, and I'm just really hoping that they're not going to slam the door in my face when I show up at the house." Sabriel's face was a mix of fear and sadness as she said the words, and Lyla's heart broke a little more for her.

"So, on with the fun, eh?" And with a small smirk, Sabriel was walking off towards the main city, leaving Lyla and Bryan to follow in her wake.

Lyla looked at Bryan as they set off after her, and he still had that small smile playing on his lips. She resolved to corner him at some point in the day to garner any information she could from him if Sabriel wasn't willing to share.

Sabriel led them through twisting streets that seemed to offer some new sensual pleasure at every turn. There were smells of cooking food from the open-air market, the sounds of children laughing merrily as they skipped past the group, occasionally pausing to run around them in small circles. And the colors! Lyla had never seen so much brightly colored clothing, from the stylized head scarves that she saw so many women wearing, to the long flowing robes of the men. Even the houses offered vibrant splashes here and there, as if New Mecca was so open and free that everyone refused to curb the desire to personalize everything they owned. Lyla felt a small thrill run through her at the thought of staying in a place that seemed to house so much life. Golgara had been a planet so in love with darkness and death and misery, that this place was a breath of fresh air with its freedom and light. She couldn't imagine a person turning out like Sabriel after growing up here, and her tongue practically burned with the desire to question her. She vowed to be patient, though, as she knew she had a tendency to go overboard when her mind was gnawing at a new concept.

Sabriel's steps slowed ahead of them as they approached a large home with walls the color of red clay and long, sweeping balconies. Lyla came to stand beside her, and could clearly see the fears written over her face. She reached out a hand, and found herself mildly surprised when Sabriel grasped it as if it were a life line. She gave her a reassuring squeeze. Sabriel closed her eyes and let out a huge breath before letting her hand go reluctantly and walking the few short steps to the door. She rang, and Bryan and Lyla hung back, both hoping with equal fervor that her dark envisioning of her welcome by her family was completely inaccurate.

The door opened, and a small girl stood there, staring up at Sabriel. Sabriel, for her part, made a small choking noise and fell to her knees, bag falling from her shoulders as she ripped back her hijab and let her curls fall around her face. Her hair seemed to spark some recognition in the child, and she let out a delighted squeal as she was engulfed in Sabriel's arms. Sabriel stood with her, swinging her gently up as the girl wrapped her arms around her neck, and her tiny legs around her waist.

"Ziza, Ziza, Ziza…" she murmured into the small neck, and Lyla was shocked to see tears streaming from behind her closed eyelids. She felt her own eyes sting, and wanted to look away from what was obviously a deeply personal moment for her friend. Suddenly, there was a loud, ululating cry from within the house, and a colorfully dressed woman came running out the door, pulling Sabriel to her in a fierce hug and showering kisses on her upturned face. The burnt chocolate color of the older woman's skin played in lovely contrast against Sabriel's alabaster pale, and the mutual love and respect on both women's faces left Lyla breathless.

"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!" the woman shouted to the sky as she enveloped Sabriel, still holding the child, in another crushing hug. They stayed that way and Lyla turned back to Bryan, as they both tried to give the family its space.

Finally, they pulled away, the woman holding Sabriel's face in the palms of her hands and staring at her as if she'd slip away otherwise.

"Oh, Jacqueline, you have come home at last," she murmured, voice still choked with emotion. Lyla frowned in confusion at the name, and flicked her eyes to Bryan, brows clearly raised in a questioning manner. He held a hand up, a gesture for patience, and mouthed _later_. She nodded, biting her lip to stave off the questions that clamored to leave her mouth.

At that moment, the young woman seemed to remember their presence. She cleared her throat, wiping her face with her discarded head covering, and gestured at Lyla and Bryan.

"Lajjun, I'd like you to meet some friends of mine. This is Lyla, and her son Michael, and this is Bryan McKenzie. I wouldn't have made it home without him." She said this last part softly, as if to underline his importance in her presence at her family's doorstep.

Bryan blushed hotly, but nodded his head towards the woman named Lajjun, and Lyla gave a shy wave. Greeting pleasantries were exchanged as they were ushered inside.

Lyla stifled a quiet gasp as her eyes roamed over the expanse of the entryway. Sabriel…Jacqueline…had walked in ahead of them and dropped her bags by the doorway. She held the little girl in her arms still, fingers stroking endlessly through her lush curls, the girl's head resting snuggly against her throat. Lyla removed her own backpack and set it near Jacqueline's, dropping her duffle a moment later. Michael was finally asleep, limbs slack, head lolling against her sternum. She snuggled him closer, pressed her lips against his warm head, and he murmured a quiet, happy baby noise. Bryan stood behind her, hesitating in the doorway. Jacqueline turned around and graced them with the first genuine smile that Lyla could remember seeing on her face.

"Bryan, it's okay. Everything's fine. Drop your stuff and come on into the kitchen." And with that, she padded ahead and turned off into a room out of view.

Bryan did as asked, but then stopped by Lyla's side. She turned her head and stared up at him, obviously waiting for him to speak.

"Her name's Jack. I'm guessing it comes from Jacqueline. I've been helping my friend look for her…for a long time now." He laughed abruptly, as if a realization had just dawned on him. "She was exactly where I said she'd be. He said she couldn't have survived, but she did." He shook his head, face caught somewhere between a smile and a sad frown.

"Everything's different now, though. When I met her she was…untouchable. Didn't seem to care for anyone, or anything. And now we find out that she's got this family, and I'm just…a tag-along. She's not going to want me to stay around, and I've got nowhere else to go." Lyla whispered this last softly, surprised by the fear and hurt lingering in her own voice.

Bryan placed a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of comfort. "I don't think she's any different than she was yesterday, or the day before. I get the feeling that, despite the fact that there's plenty she's not telling, she's been as honest as possible about everything else. If she said at some point that she wants you to stay with her, that she wants her family to take you in, then it's true. Give her a chance, Ly, she's had a lot of shit to deal with. More, I imagine, than either of us could even guess at. Just give her time to acclimate. She hasn't seen her family in two years, and up until ten minutes ago, she thought she'd be turned away at the door. That's gotta leave your head fucked." Bryan's simple, brutal words fell on Lyla's ears, and she instantly felt ashamed for only thinking about herself. This woman had saved her life, twice in a row, and she was whining about not being wanted. She nodded, firming up her chin.

"Now, it smells like food, and I'm starving. Jack's probably wondering where we are."

The name sounded so right on Bryan's tongue that Lyla felt something inside herself relax. She plastered a smile on her face and nodded, and they followed in the direction that their friend had gone.

* * *

Riddick sat in a field, long flowing grasses twirling around him, brushing against his arms where they rested on his upturned knees. Jack was with him, a silent companion content to sit by his side. Her old, broken goggles were perched on top of her head, keeping her rebellious hair out of her eyes. He looked over at her, concentrated on the emerald green orbs that blazed out of her face. Her pink lips turned up in a smile, and he realized that her face kept shifting. Young Jack, now Jack, Young Jack…Back and forth between the two, until she spoke. Her face seemed to decide that what she had to say was important, and settled into now Jack.

"You're a real schmuck, ya know?" she inquired, a happy grin on her face. They weren't the words that Riddick was expecting, and he frowned at her, fingers playing idly with a blade of grass.

"See, here's the thing. You saved me when I was a kid, yeah? That was pretty cool of you, and it was this big 'I'm changing my ways' moment for you, and that was nice. I really wasn't looking forward to becoming monster lunch, so I was fine with it. But then, after you saved me, you left me, and a few years later I became monster lunch in a different way. They wanted_ you_, Riddick, not me, but it was my ass they carved their pound of flesh from anyway. So I figure the two balance out, and now I get to call you a schmuck." She grinned merrily, as if proud that she was able to follow her logic through coherently. Riddick's frown deepened, he could feel it pulling at the corners of his mouth. He was silent for a while, staring at Jack's profile as she watched something in the distance, eyes never turning to meet his.

"Why are you here?" he asked her finally.

She shrugged, muscles rippling tight under her skin, and scratched her nose. "I don't know, Big E, it's your dream. I think the better question is: Why the fuck am I in a dress?" She gestured lazily at her body and he looked. Sure enough, she was in a white dress, some sort of lacy looking material that was currently bunched up around her thighs, puffing out over her combat boots. There were splashes of color all around the hem that he thought might be flowers, but on closer inspection, he realized they were blood stains, varying from rust colored, to fresh and glistening ruby. There was a small chunk by her knee that he was pretty sure was brain matter. She gestured to it with a finger. "Nice touch, by the way." She snorted.

He smirked at her, and she smiled back before leaning over to rest her head on the hard plane of his shoulder.

They sat like that for a while, then Jack changed position again, flattening out so her head was in his lap with her legs splayed out in front of her. She rested her hands, fingers clasped, on her belly and breathed out a deep sigh of content. He found his fingers playing with her hair, twirling her curls around and around, and she grinned up at him.

"You wanna fuck me, yeah?" she asked, a cocky smirk turning her lips up. He looked down at her, eyes holding hers. "'Cause it's okay, ya know? We're mammals and all that. Just because we evolved higher brain function, doesn't mean we don't still feel the instinctual urge to reproduce. Although, that is debatable. The higher brain function thing, not the evolution." She frowned and fell silent again. His hand stopped moving, rested on the top of her skull, and he wondered if he could snap her neck, wondered what it would feel like to have her die under his hands. She wrinkled her nose and wagged a finger at him, as if she knew what he was thinking.

"Now's not the time. We're gonna kill each other, some day. A hundred little deaths, in a hundred little ways, over and over 'til one of us just gives out and breaks. But today's not the day, you big morose bastard."

She sat up, came to her knees and stood, brushing the grass and gray matter off her dress. "I gotta go," she mumbled, and started to walk off into the distance.

"Jack," his voice was soft when he said it, but she turned anyway, cocking her head at him.

"I'm sorry that all happened. It's my fault." Riddick knew he'd never say the words in the waking world, but here they felt good on his tongue.

Jack nodded, and shrugged again, cheeky grin still sitting on her lips. "That's ok, Big E. I'm gonna get you back for it, just you wait." And with that, she was off, running away until she was just a streak on the horizon, and then gone.

Riddick tore his eyes open, took in the surrounding darkness of his ship. There were no colors, no soft grass, no girl telling him she'd get him back for her torture. He stretched, groaned with it, tried to ignore the creak in his shoulder. He stood and stretched again. This was one of the downfalls of live travel. You had a lot of time on your hands to just sit and think, and Riddick's brain had apparently decided that he didn't feel nearly guilty enough about Jack when he was awake, so he should be plagued with it in his sleep.

He scraped a hand over his face and noted that he needed to shave again. He stalked out into the cockpit, thankful for the cool air that greeted his flushed skin. He checked his comm, which displayed ship stats and an estimated time of arrival on New Mecca of 12 days. He frowned, momentarily anxious for the number to be smaller, before he shrugged the feeling off. There was no guarantee that she'd be there, or that she would ever return there again. He hadn't heard anything new since his last conversation with the holy man, so he assumed she wasn't. Regardless, he needed to meet up with Bryan, figure out their next round of shipping routes.

Riddick frowned, slumping in his seat and staring out into the deep, fathomless black of space. He found himself wishing for a neck to snap, or a set of ribs just waiting for a shiv to slip home between them. His little spree on Golgara should have slaked some of his blood-lust. Instead, it just made it sharper, as if his years of careful repression were just now beginning to wrap in a tight band around his ribs. Sure, there had been the occasional attempted mugger that may have ended up in a dumpster, and there was that one time where he had caught a rapist out in the act and kindly left his guts dangling from a ceiling fan, but other than that, Riddick had been careful, unwilling to risk being caught. He'd die before he went back to slam, and he knew it. But now…The animal had been loosed from its cage, and wanted off the leash something awful. He felt his fists clenching and loosening in an old familiar pattern, when a thought dawned. His smile was slow and malicious as it spread over his face.

Riddick had nearly forgotten about Toombs.

* * *

A/N: So, we're nearly finished with the first part of what feels like a very long journey. No, I don't mean this story is nearly done. Not by a long shot. I keep finding myself writing little vignettes that occur two/three years after these events, so here's hoping you guys are still enjoying it with me when they happen. Massive love to everyone for all of your support and kind words. As always, read and review, and I'll see you next chapter.

~~Nifty~~

Acknowledgements

JamesRamsey: I just…couldn't kill Bryan. I like him too much, and he's got an interesting back story (well, in _my_ head it's interesting anyway…) Yup, Riddick shit-losing is guaranteed…Damn, but you are one insightful beast ^.^

Chaos Dragon: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. It's so much fun for me to write, and it makes me happy when I can share work I'm proud of with others, and they end up enjoying it too. Thank you, thank you.

zilly-pill: Well, hot damn. If my work can make others excited to write, I'm pretty sure that I must be the happiest cat around. Let me know when you do! Look forward to it.

schafer: Stream of consciousness review? Best. Thing. Ever. Honestly, I love to know people's gut reactions to my work, so your review made me giggle like a school girl. Thank you, so very much.

MercuryAshlingPrincess: Lady, as always, your reviews make me smile. Love you and your enthusiasm!

elfenknight: Thank you! I know…it's killing me to not post the meeting chapter, but I tend to not question the muse. She has a stick, and she knows how to use it.

Sunshine: I know 13 was short, but I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I hope you enjoy this one too.

All/Others: Seriously, huge thanks and much love. Your dedication makes me itch to write more and push my boundaries.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/ The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Chapter 15

Jack sat on her balcony, head back against the headrest of her chair, bottle of amber liquid glinting between her knees. She'd been home now for ten days. Ten days of family stopping by, old friends wondering when she'd come to the gym, people coming to congratulate the Imam on the return of his lovely daughter, and when will she start thinking about settling down? Oh, you've grown so beautiful! Oh, what happened to your pretty hair? It was all too much, and Jack felt like she had a thousand pound weight sitting in her chest. Which was why she was drinking, even though she knew her adoptive father would not approve, and she had already gone through a half a pack of cigarettes (another unapproved thing) in the last hour.

She stared up at the stars, closed her eyes, and took another gulp from her bottle. Her throat didn't even burn with it anymore, and somewhere she knew that this meant she was already drunk, but she couldn't really bring herself to care. She loosed a small sigh and wished, just for a moment, that she was back on the ship, still Sabriel, still without a past or a family or any of the other million things that were racing through her mind.

_Silence?_ She sent out the mental call hesitantly, as if afraid that somehow she'd magically been cured and no longer had another person living in her skull.

**Still here, Jack. Always will be** came the gravelly voice. Jack's chest felt just a little bit lighter. Silence had been…well, silent, since their return to New Mecca.

_What's your first memory?_

**My memories are yours, Jack. We're…the same, just different.**

_But I don't remember ever feeling…this, you…when I was younger._

**Because I was sleeping.**

Jack, behind her eyelids, pictured the field she had seen in her dream of Riddick, and could see herself, lying by Silence's side, curled up and looking at the face that was hers, but wasn't. The disconnect was trippy, but she let herself relax into it.

_So what's your first memory that you can remember after waking up?_

**Do you really want to know?** Silence's face held as much concern as Jack figured she was capable of, lips pursed, brow cocked slightly.

Jack took a deep breath, held it, let it out.

_Yeah _she responded finally. _I want to know._

**We were on a ship, in a cargo bay. Riddick was going to die, and we just…picked up the gun. Didn't think about it, because we didn't have to. Just shot the bitch, and the feeling was…better than anything, because for once, we got to be the hero. We got to save the day.**

Silence pursed her lips again, and Jack leaned into her, resting her head on her shoulder, wishing she could get this small comfort in the physical word. Silence's arm wrapped around her and they lay like that, breathing in the fresh air that she knew for a fact she'd never really smelled.

_ So, if that's when you woke up, or at least became aware, why didn't I ever feel you or hear you again until…_ Jack trailed off, trying to come up with the appropriate words to describe that awful, wonderful night when she let loose and killed with such malicious indifference at the slaver's compound.

Thankfully, Silence knew what she meant, and shrugged her shoulders under Jack's head.

**I don't know, really. I guess I just…drifted, for a long time. I think I slept again, until you were ready to accept me, to let me back in. At that point you were so desperate for help, and you were too far gone to do it yourself so something just…clicked, or snapped maybe and boom, there I was.**

_ So, what are you then? I mean, if I'm the one who's…the main us, what are you? The psycho us?_

Silence laughed in her dry, scratchy way that still managed to send shivers running up Jack's spine.

** Yeah, I guess so, something like that. That lady in the dream…I wish she'd had something to say about it. Crazy bitch.**

Jack nodded, feeling too strange in the world that was but wasn't to speak about how she felt about her recurring dreams when she was in The World that Is. Jack wasn't particularly sure when she'd begun thinking in those terms, but she mentally brushed it off since they seemed accurate.

She reached up, linking her hand with Silence's where it was flung out by her head. She closed her eyes, shut out the fact that the only person she could be open and affectionate around was essentially…herself. That wasn't normal, nothing about her situation was normal, and for once, she hated it. Her adventurer's spirit had seen just a bit too much, had just a few too many experiences, and she was left exhausted, aching, and alone in their wake.

"Can't sleep, kiddo?" Bryan's voice snapped her eyes open, and she was back on her balcony, bottle of liquid sin and courage about to teeter to the floor. She snatched it back from the edge of her chair, and turned to look at Bryan. He stood, just a few feet away, on the balcony that let out from his own room.

Of course, with the joy of his daughter's return, Abu had insisted that Bryan stay, and he'd been delighted with Lyla, as Lajjun had been delighted with Michael. Jack suspected that she would soon have another sibling to add to her list.

She looked at Bryan, and cursed the fact that she could feel tears lingering on her lashes. She wiped her face with a rough hand. "Not for long," she whispered, hating the lump that lingered in her throat, the emotions that made her voice sound so weak. She felt like a damsel in distress, armed only with liquor, nicotine, and psychosis. None of these were very effective weapons, unless of course she was battling herself, in which case they could win the fight spectacularly.

Bryan stepped up onto the wide ledge of his balcony railing, and hopped the few feet to hers, landing with a quiet grunt. He sat down, curling up at her feet without waiting for her permission or invitation. Jack looked down at him, tried to stare him down, and found she was the one who had to look away from the concern in his eyes.

He grabbed the bottle from where it sat in the circle of her legs and took a quick drink, wincing as it burned down his throat. He replaced it in its fleshy cradle and continued to stare at her. Jack closed her eyes and fumbled for her lighter as she pressed a cigarette to her lips, tried to pretend her hands didn't shake as she lit it. The smoke seared her lungs and as she expelled it, she felt a small measure of calm return.

"Didn't know you smoked," Bryan murmured. He withdrew his own pack from his pocket and lit one, lips pursing in a tight 'o' and expelling a stream of gray smoke.

Jack smirked, snorted, shook her head. "I haven't for years. Picked it up when I was 15, and like all dumb decisions made by all dumb kids in the history of things, I did it because my friends did. Up until a couple hours ago, I hadn't had a cigarette since…" Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip to fight back its need to quiver. She had smoked her last cigarette walking with that fuck back to his ship, wholly engulfed in a fit of sheer idiocy. "Well, it'd been a while."

Bryan nodded, letting her omission go as he had so many times since she'd known him. "So, why are you picking it back up now?"

Jack shook her head and snorted again. "Seemed like a good idea. Figured I'd go for the whole nine, ya know? Drink myself into a stupor and kill my lungs because I'm so fucked up that I can't handle how much people seem to genuinely like me." Jack frowned, unsure as to why she had admitted that. Blamed it on the alcohol, and refused to dig deeper.

Bryan just nodded again, in the strangely wise way he had. They sat quietly for a while, and Jack almost didn't notice when Bryan reached up and took her hand in his, linked their fingers, stroked his thumb along the ridge of her palm where the worst of her callus's were. Her eyes zeroed in on her hand in his, and she tried not to shudder at the contact. With the exception of the many hugs from Abu, Bryan was one of only three men to touch her in anything other than violence for two years. She forced herself to relax, to not lash out and stab him in the throat like a part of her mind was screaming to do. Silence had receded again, and she didn't dare call out and ask her opinion on the matter. She let it be.

When she didn't pull away, Bryan tugged lightly on her arm. Jack, drunk, shattered, and trying so hard not to fall apart, followed through and curled up next to him on the floor of her balcony. When he wrapped an arm over her shoulders, she didn't retreat, shocking herself again.

"Ya know, you don't have to be badass all the time," Bryan said conversationally. Jack smiled, minutely, and rolled her eyes. "No, really," he continued. "You're human. I don't think you can be that hardcore forever. I mean, my partner handles it pretty well, but I'm thinking he's probably some sort of über advanced alien species that isn't capable of weakness or some shit like that." Jack pictured Riddick, face in its perpetual scowl, biceps the size of her head, and snorted, which turned into a small snicker.

"But, really," Bryan tucked a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You're pretty fucking broken, from what I can tell, and someday, you're going to have to fix it, or you're just going to wind up dying from trying so hard to repress everything."

His words were so sure, so firm, and everything that the little overflowing part of her that handled her emotions needed. She sobbed, one long, harsh noise, and then her head was being pulled against a strong shoulder and she was crying her eyes out. It was the total abandon that only the completely desolate or the completely drunk were capable of, and she was both. The tears streamed hot down her cheeks and into his shirt, and her ribs ached with the force of it, her lungs surged to try to maintain her choked screams.

She cried for her family, who hadn't known where she was. She cried for Riddick, who had come out of hiding for her. But mostly, she cried for herself, for the part of her that had been torn away that first night in cuffs, the part she had never been able to properly mourn. She thought back to the girl who had loved hiking in the mountains, volunteering at the local animal hospital; the girl who had plastered her walls with posters of bands she liked, and had framed pictures of her friends on her dresser. Jack wasn't that girl anymore, and never would be again, and she cried for the loss of safety, sanity, that had come with being her. She cried for all the times she'd nearly died, and all the times she'd killed and hadn't thought anything of it.

At some point, Bryan had lain back, and she had followed him. Now, she was clasped firmly in the circle of his arms, her hot forehead pressed into his collarbone, and his hand was in her hair, smoothing her curls back from her face. He murmured words of comfort and made soothing noises like a parent would when their child scraped their knees.

After what felt like an eternity, her tears were gone. Her throat felt dry, and her eyes were swollen, and she was pretty sure that she wouldn't even be capable of breathing through her swollen nasal passages anytime soon. Between the booze and the breakdown, her head was pounding, and she felt like her brain was trying to squeeze its way out of her skull. She wanted to be embarrassed, but she had wrung every last emotion and reaction out of her body, so instead she just drifted, accepting the warmth and comfort of another body for the first time in years.

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, her head was lolling over a strong arm, and there was another tucked under her knees. She was placed on something soft and warm, her bed most likely, and she felt her boots being loosened and tugged off her feet. She felt warm fingers ghost along her cheekbone, her temple, and she forced herself to open her eyes. Bryan was lingering over her, face so full of caring and some other thing she couldn't name, that her traitorous eyes threatened to well up again. She made herself meet his eyes, and tried to put into her own how very grateful she was that he had come to speak to her tonight.

Bryan smiled, a slight pull of his lips at the corners, and leaned over, brushing a kiss across her forehead, before turning to head back to his room the way he had come to her balcony.

That night, Jack did not dream.

* * *

"Good morning, al-Imam," Bryan greeted the older man at the breakfast table respectfully. Abu nodded his head. "Good morning, Mr. Bryan. Did you sleep well?"

Bryan nodded in return. "Yes, sir. Very well, thank you." It was only a small lie.

He sat across from Jack's adoptive father, and took a contemplative sip of his coffee. It was bitter and dark with just a touch of synthetic sugar, and Bryan was pretty sure he'd never tasted anything better in his life. After his long night with Jack, followed by a lack of sleep that had mainly to do with the girl in question, his body desperately needed the caffeine.

"Al-Imam, may I ask you a question? About Jack?"

Abu sat up straighter, fixing the young man across from him with a curious gaze. "You may." He gestured outward with his hand, indicating that Bryan should continue.

"Sir, has she told you what happened to her?"

Abu frowned, wrapping his chin with his hand, unsure of how to answer. Jack had told him some small details of what had happened to her; what happened the night she was taken, and bits and pieces of information about the following two years, but he could tell she held back a lot. The look of desperation on her face when he had mentioned informing Riddick of her return convinced him to say nothing to their long-time friend, despite his promise.

"Jack…addressed her recent past with me, yes. I would never wish any of the things she experienced on the vilest of creatures." Abu let his comment hang between them, and Bryan looked down, staring into his mug as if it held the answers to life's most important questions.

Clearing his throat, Abu stood from the table and brought his dishes to the sink. "Miss Lyla has already left for school for the day. My wife and daughter have gone to her mother's. Please do make sure that Jack eats something. She was always forgetting, when she was younger. Enjoy your day, Mr. Bryan." And with that, Abu left the house. Bryan frowned, the Imam's previous statement playing over and over in his head.

He had been able to guess what Jack might have gone through, fighting on the Floors for two years, but her father's comment made him wonder if perhaps things were even worse than he had originally thought. He wanted to ask, but he didn't want to push.

He sighed, recalling how easily she'd snapped the previous night, and flicked his eyes up to the ceiling, as if he could actually see the girl where she lay in her room above.

* * *

Jack's eyes fluttered open, and she groaned. The light streaming in through her open window hurt her eyes, and instantly informed her that she had a headache. She closed her eyes and coughed. Her lungs hurt, right along with her head. She rolled to her side and cursed herself for the extreme idiocy she had engaged in last night. An alcohol and nicotine binge had sounded like a fantastic idea in the moment, and now she regretted it. Suddenly recalling the events with Bryan, she groaned again, and this time it was tinged with both shame and anger.

She had been away from the Floors for almost two months, and she was getting soft. She woke up now in a soft, warm bed, in a home, with her family and _friends. _She had cried last night.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. _

Jack B. Badd, psycho killer extraordinaire, did _not_ cry. She pounded a fist into the mattress and crawled out of bed. She pulled off last night's clothes as she walked towards her bathroom, hoping a shower would wash everything away. At the very least, she wouldn't smell so much like a brewery.

As the hot water pounded on her skull, she came to the conclusion that she simply had to leave. Lyla had started at school, which she was delighted with, and Lajjun happily looked after Michael while she was there. Lyla could be happy here, like Jack had been once, so that was one worry taken care of. Closing her eyes, she calculated that she had enough credits to disappear, at least for a while. She would simply explain to her adoptive parents that she needed to…find herself. Go on a sort of miniature hajj. They would understand completely.

Her mind wandered back to Bryan. She frowned. Two months ago, she would never have let him so much as touch her, and now she was acting all B-Movie damsel? _Bullshit. Definitely getting soft._

Jack let a small growl of frustration curl through her lips and cut the water. She pulled on a sports bra and cargo shorts, taped up her knuckles and ankles, and headed down to her gym in the basement. She called for music, set it to appropriately blaring levels, and attacked her workout with unusual gusto.

Lately, she had begun to feel a creeping itch between her shoulder blades that left her skin tingling and her chest tight. Her realization of what the feeling meant had been her initial prompt for last night's binge, and she found it still left her stomach clenched and unsettled.

_ It's been two months since I've killed anyone. Two months since I've taken another person's life, and I'm having withdrawals. That's pretty sick, even for my standards._

**It's not sick, Jack, just a fact of our reality.**

Jack snorted at Silence's calmly voiced comment.

_Yeah, that's just fucking fantastic. I go too long without killing people, and I start to wonder what my family's blood would look like on my hands, what my friend's neck would sound like when I snapped it. Yeah, great facts._

Silence said nothing, perhaps understanding that Jack was just being snarky. It wasn't their fault that they'd been thrown into an abnormal situation and adapted accordingly, but that didn't mean Jack had to like the after-effects.

She tapped into that itch as she moved to work the bag, alternating blows with her fists that she knew could fracture a skull, and blows with her feet that she'd felt shatter bones. Her mind blanked, her vision turned red, and she tried to funnel all of her aggression into her movements, tried to pretend that she didn't want flesh giving way and blood pouring beneath her hands.

Jack wasn't sure how long she stayed that way, forcing herself into a hazy sort of exhaustion, feeling the leftover chemicals from the previous night slowly squeezing their way out of her skin with her sweat. She could feel it running down her back, her thighs, her arms, but she ignored it, only going so far as to blink her eyes when the sweat ran across her eyelids.

The hand on her shoulder was unexpected and she reacted based on instinct honed over two years immersed in death. She snatched at it, felt the joints pop, wrapped a hand around a forearm and hurled the body over her head. Her knee was digging into ribs and she had a shiv at his throat before her conscious mind acknowledged that it was Bryan. At the moment, it was a very scared-looking Bryan, hands up in a universal sign of supplication.

Jack let out a sharp breath, forced her tense muscles to relax as her blade disappeared into the back of her pants. She removed her knee and rocked back until she was sitting. He sat up, slowly, letting her observe his movements, and curled his hands up on his lap.

They stared at each other, both feeling strangely awkward. Finally, Bryan broke the quiet.

"So, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to spar, but I'm thinking that I may not survive the encounter." Jack chuckled darkly and nodded.

Bryan looked at her, his normally bright green eyes dark and serious. "You're going to have to talk about it at some point."

Jack's mouth thinned out and she firmed her chin up. "I don't know what you're talking about," she growled, feigning ignorance. Bryan's eyes caught hers, and didn't look away.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. What did they do to you? You can't carry it around forever. Shit like that eats away at a person, and if you let it go long enough, there's not gonna be anything left."

Jack snorted. "Gee, thanks doctor, any other words of wisdom?" Her voice was harsh, and she knew she was being cruel, but it would be for the best in the long run.

Bryan frowned at her. "You know, you can pretend you're fine, but that doesn't mean you are. Take last night for example…"

"Last night was a fucking mistake. I was drunk, and I was feeling sorry for myself. It was inappropriate, and I think that we'd be best off if it was just forgotten."

Jack watched Bryan's face as first anger, and then hurt crossed it. Finally, he settled on a sort of detached resignation. "Fine," he said in a hard voice. "Consider it fucking forgotten." With that, he stood, and stalked off out of the gym.

Jack watched him walk away, and continued to watch the door for some time after that. Dimly, she wondered if this was meant to be her life: A series of either pushing or walking away. If so, it was best if she accept it now. She sighed and stood, pretending the cold feeling in her chest was one she welcomed.

As she worked the bag again, she told herself it was only sweat that burned her eyes.

* * *

A/N: *sighs* This chapter was all sorts of heavy and depressing to write. New chapter is being finished and tweaked and should be forthcoming soon *crosses fingers* As always, darlings, read and review, and I'll see you next chapter.

~~Nifty~~

Acknowledgements

zilly-pill: I'm impatient to find out, heh. I tend to not know what's going to happen until I start writing. Thank you for reading! And yay new writing!

JamesRamsey: For some reason, your comment made me picture a little blonde 5 year old with curly pigtails and a pout face. Awesome.

LiasonFan2: Thank you! That was hard to write, and I'm glad it read well (or realistically…)

MissConceptions: A multi-review! Yeah! It's got an epic feeling (in my head). These dream things just keep popping up, and they're fun to write. I'm glad you enjoyed.

vmg: Thank you, so much. It means a lot to me that people are just as involved in the story as I am. And I've totally cried reading fanfiction before, as well.

MercuryAshlingPrincess: So, it wasn't as quick as I wanted, but here it is. I'm glad you liked it, since 14 was one of my more difficult ones to write (as was this one!) Much Love lady!

Sunshine: I guess this is your welcome _and_ thank you ^.^

schafer: The dreams as a whole are important. Certain bits and pieces aren't, and they're just weird stuff that the brain does. Ex: Riddick's blaming himself – important; Jack expounding on mammalian mating habits – not, but kind of funny in the situation. It really will happen, my muse just keeps throwing stuff at me!

elfenknight: *pictures tinytiny muse attacking hulking Riddick with a stick* Yeah, that'd be classic ^.^ Nope, Jack's still a full-out badass, but right now, she's also a broken girl who's gone through a lot, and it's all catching up with her now that she has time to think. Fear not! She'll be back in full ass-kicking action mode eventually.

Saismaat: Thank you so very much. Again, your detailed reviews are wonderfully surprising and greatly appreciated. I don't know what the line about humus is from, but it had me giggling for a good few minutes after I read it. "Some" felt right at the time, but sometimes my grammar monkey takes a lunch break *shrugs*. The blades and blood were both extremely important, and I'm glad you happened to notice both. I questioned myself on the creepiness, initially, and then realized it felt right, since there's a bit of a creep-factor inherent in their relationship anyhow. And huzzah for long fanfics! ^.^

All/Others: Thank you! Gracias! Merci Beaucoup! Danke! Your continued support keeps me going.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work of fiction.

Chapter 16

"What the fuck do you mean you're leaving?" Lyla growled angrily. Jack breathed in deeply through her nose and let it out the same way. Her breath made the fine hairs on Michael's head dance. She had him tucked into her arms, and was trying to speak to Lyla calmly. A small part of her grudgingly acknowledged that she was using the baby as a type of shield, knowing that Lyla wouldn't do anything drastic while Jack held her son. It was mainly for Lyla's protection anyhow, since Jack's normally iron clad control on both her temper and Silence were paper-thin at the moment.

"It's only for a little while, Ly. I just need to not be here for a bit. It's not anything I can explain. You've got school, and Michael. Bryan's leaving soon, and he has his job…I've got nothing, Ly. I just need to get away. I'll come back, when I can." Jack's voice was surprisingly level as she tried to make her younger friend see reason.

Lyla's eyes were bright with anger and hurt and unshed tears. Jack bit back anything else she may have said, since she had been in just this situation when she was younger.

_At least I've got the decency to say good-bye. I'm coming back, too. Eventually._

Jack firmed her jaw, refusing to respond to the quiver she saw in Lyla's chin. "It's for the best, Ly. For everyone."

In her arms, Michael began to fidget, picking up on the tension building between the two women. Wordlessly, Jack held him out, and Lyla nearly snatched him from her grasp. Her anger curbed as soon as her son was in her arms, but the hurt remained in her eyes, and Jack had to look away.

Right into the equally pissed-off face of Bryan.

_Shit._

Her focus was gone lately, and she knew that, but this was the third time that his presence had flown completely under her mental radar, a sign that she was becoming far too comfortable with him. They hadn't spoken since the previous morning's disastrous interaction in the gym, and a small part of her had been hoping to leave it that way.

Lyla looked from Jack's stony visage to Bryan's angry one. She sniffed, and stalked out of Jack's room, slamming the door behind her.

Jack sighed, a deep, weary sound, and slumped down on her bed next to her half-packed duffle bag. She watched as Bryan paced in a small circle, fists clenching and unclenching. He opened his mouth, fixed her with a glare, closed it again. He did this twice before giving a low, annoyed huff, pushing her bag off the bed, and sitting next to her, brushing against her bent knees. He leaned his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and tucked them behind his head. His wrist created a barrier between them, and Jack found herself wishing that she could see his eyes.

"Didn't figure you for a runner, Jack," he murmured. She could hear the anger that laced his words, and beneath that was concern. She sighed, dragging her eyes up to the ceiling and then down to where her clasped hands sat in her lap.

"I'm not running, Bryan."

He was silent for a moment. Jack picked up one of her throwing knives, rolled it over and over in her hands. Crossed her knuckles, crossed her palms, back again, switched hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Bryan's jaw clench, watched his hands scrape back over his head before falling between his knees.

"If you're not running, why do you have to leave now?" he asked finally. Jack watched the progress of the blade in her hands, not sure how to respond.

"It's for the best," she offered, lamely. Bryan snorted and shook his head, a disbelieving smile on his lips.

"For who, Jack? Your family has been thinking you were probably dead for two years, and you finally came back. Is your leaving again the best for them? How about Lyla? She looks up to you, she trusts you, and you're just going to fuck off on her? Leave her on a strange planet with people she doesn't really know, and assume she'll be fine? Yeah, that's for the best, obviously." The sarcasm in his words was so heavy that Jack could practically feel it caressing her skin. "How about you? Hm? How is running what's best for you? Is this just how you deal with shit? Ignore it, run away like a five year old? That may have worked for the monster in the closet, Jack, but this is real life. You're a fucking adult. Adult's work shit out; they don't just try to pretend it didn't happen."

Jack frowned and huffed out a breath. She had a feeling that Bryan wasn't just talking about her leaving when he said that. While she didn't particularly enjoy his likening her to a child, she stayed silent. She knew words that came from anger when she heard them, and that was exactly where his words were coming from at the moment.

"Bryan…I don't know what you want me to say. I'm not the type of person that should be waking up in this big house, with this family. Not anymore. I'm a killer, Bryan." Jack stared at him as she said it, willing him to look her in the eyes. When he finally did, it was brief, and he had to look away. Jack continued to stare, let him feel her scrutiny.

"I'm a killer," she repeated firmly. "Killers don't have loving, happy families, they don't have friends who want them around, they don't hold babies on their hip. I can't have any of those things, Bryan. I couldn't have them two years ago, and can't have them now. I've shed people's blood, more times that I can actually remember. I can rattle off about 60 different ways to kill a person without even thinking too hard. This is all I am now." Her last words came out whispered, and the pang in her chest reminded her of how very true they were.

Bryan looked up, finally, and caught her eyes. This time, Jack looked away first. She didn't like how easily he challenged her, didn't like the quiet discomfort that filled her when he so clearly disapproved of something. She wasn't sure when it had started happening, just as she wasn't sure when he had gotten under her guard, but she knew that it was a dangerous thing for both of them.

"Is this all you are? Or is it all you want to be?"

She met his eyes, let a little bit of truth slip from her lips.

"It's all I can be."

Bryan sighed, as if he recognized the truth in her words, but didn't want to accept it. His shoulders slumped a bit and he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. Their mingled breaths wafted over their chins, and Jack felt herself freeze, felt herself start to pull back, but Bryan wouldn't allow it.

With just the slightest amount of movement, he closed the gap between them, and pressed his lips over hers. It was soft at first, and Jack allowed it, but the pressure got firmer. His fingers ghosted along her jaw, little caresses that sent shivers down her spine. She heard him choke back a noise that could've been a sigh, could've been a sob, and his tongue slithered along her lower lip, and her mouth opened in surprise.

Bryan took the motion as invitation, misunderstanding entirely. His tongue was warm and smoky against hers and his hand clasped on her hip was an unexpected weight. The feeling of it brought memories rushing back: hands pressing her into a dirty mattress, the smell of whiskey, hips grinding against her helpless body.

The anger that swept through her was hot, a fierce thing that felt alive. She slammed her hands into Bryan's chest, shoving him away, as she tucked and rolled over the side of the bed. Her shiv was in her hand, held up defensively in the space between them before she even had time to process the move.

Bryan stood, shock registering on his face.

"What the fuck, Jack?"

Her eyes were wild, flashing at him dangerously.

"You didn't ask. You just _assumed_. You just _took_." Her voice rose on the last word, rang with a mild note of hysteria.

Bryan took her in: she was shaking, eyes wide, pupils contracted. He let out a slow breath, tried taking a step towards her. She growled at him, low in her throat. He stopped, let his brain catch up with the rest of him. Jack turned away from him, towards her open window. They stood like that for a small time, and Jack's voice was low and broken when it reached his ears.

"I need you to leave."

Bryan nodded, realized she couldn't see it.

"Alright, Jack." His whisper felt like a howl of defeat.

He crossed to the door, watched her body pivot so he couldn't see her face at any point. The door closed quietly behind him, and he slumped against it.

"Fucking idiot, McKenzie" he murmured to himself.

As he entered his own rooms, the pieces fell into place, and the puzzle that he'd been mentally gnawing at suddenly became clear. Her fear of touch, her hesitancy that was so evident around males, her reaction to the news of the slavers' deaths. Abu's soft voice in the breakfast nook '_I wouldn't wish it_ _on the vilest of creatures_'. He cursed himself hotly. Why hadn't he understood the connection before? Yes, she had been on the Floors, fighting and killing, but before that she had been…

Bryan felt a surge of bile rising up his throat and rushed to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

He had effectively just put himself in the same category as those men, as far as Jack was concerned. Her words danced through his head, leaving behind a thick quilt of shame. Sure, he'd tried to show her how he felt, hoped it would persuade her to stay.

He'd also just lost any semblance of a chance with her.

_Shit. _

He felt like an idiot. Not to mention an asshole.

He rinsed his mouth out, trying to remove the foul taste that lingered on his tongue. Unfortunately, the aggravation he felt wasn't as easily dealt with. He had been stupid, and right now Jack would be too angry to talk about it. He groaned as he flopped, face first, onto his bed. His mind began twisting words, stringing them together in what would hopefully be an acceptable apology…or at least an explanation for his actions.

Somewhere between _Jack, I'm sorry_ and _Jack, I think I might be falling for you _he fell into a restless sleep. He dreamt of fire, and smoke, and pained screams. His sleeping mind was so engrossed in the mental battle the he never heard his door open, never felt the callused fingers that lingered over his temple before hesitantly stroking down his jaw, or saw the shaking hand that dropped a letter on his bedside table.

By the time he woke in the morning, she would be gone, along with his hopes of redemption.

* * *

Jack stepped out into the cool evening air, taking a deep breath and telling herself that, if her lips quivered, it was due to the familiar evening chill. If her fingers trembled, it was because she had drunk one too many cups of coffee.

The raw ache in her chest was obviously just a bad reaction to seasonal allergies.

She turned, looking up at the house that she was leaving, trying to tell herself that was all it was: a house. A simple stop on a years-long journey that still had no end in sight. There was no place for her here, in these warm walls, filled with warm people.

Her heart was a cold lump, beating listlessly beneath her ribs.

Exactly as it should be.

She pulled an old, familiar object from her pocket. Fingered the set of goggles idly as she stood silently on the stoop of her adoptive parents' home. With a small, weary smile, she pulled them over her head, let them rest against her collarbones and she headed towards the space port. Unconsciously, her hand would slip along the strap as she walked, and from there would fall to caress the well-honed shiv at her hip, treating it like a worry stone.

As she slipped through the darkened streets of New Mecca, Jack felt the weariness, the sorrow, drag her down, tugging on the tattered shreds of her strength.

She felt herself start to fall, a thing she hadn't done since the Floors, since the final battle that had meant her freedom. As she fell, Silence rose, and Jack felt more than glad to let her take the reigns for a while.

And as Silence walked, taking in deep breaths of the jasmine and spice scented air, she failed to notice the hulking figure whose considerable attention had just zeroed in on her, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing dangerously.

* * *

Riddick drew in and let out several deep breaths as he entered the atmosphere of Helion Prime. He'd already radioed in, gotten permission for landing, and a docking bay secured for the TGE 2.

He wasn't nervous. Riddick didn't get nervous. He was, at most, apprehensive. If she wasn't here, he would complete the next shipment that he was slated to pick up fours days from now, deliver it, and head off to find her. He knew he could leave the day to day running of the business in Bryan's hands without worrying. He'd done it before; twice, actually. Both times he had returned to neat invoices, pleased business men, and even a bonus or two.

As he docked, he braced himself for the chill of the New Meccan night. During the day, the heat was so intense that he was shocked that people had decided to settle here, but the nights, like all deserts, became cool quickly.

As his booted feet met the tarmac, he took a quick, surreptitious glance around. His contacts felt uncomfortable after going so long without having to wear them, but they allowed him to see occasional flashes of color and, more importantly, disguised his shined eyes. That alone was worth the irritation.

The bag slung over his shoulder was a familiar feeling in an unfamiliar situation. Riddick felt his gut tremble with something caught between anticipation and dread and he growled low at the unwelcome sensation.

His feet led him over a path that was engrained in his memory, despite the fact that he had rarely used it. As he walked through the space port, through the now silent market, he couldn't ignore the niggling sense that something was off. He glanced around again, never slowing his step, trying to determine if it was his surroundings or the people in them that were creating his unease. For the time being, though, he was alone. He chalked it up to the familiar sense of danger that always accompanied the risk of being planet-side.

As his eyes scanned the streets ahead of him, he caught sight of a figure walking in the shadows, the rolling gait informing him that the figure was female. He hastened his steps slightly as he took in a full curling head of hair, just like Jack's.

If his heart rate sped, it was simply an adjustment to atmosphere that his body was going through.

His pace increased again until he was almost within touching distance, keeping his movements silent as only he could. The girl had yet to turn or acknowledge his presence, and he made a point to walk directly behind here. There, a vague scent, just the barest hint of sandalwood and sunshine that to him had always been Jack's scent. But... But.

Something was wrong. Shoulders too wide, hips too slim, build just a bit too muscular. And the scent that laid over the sandalwood was that of death, carrion, of rotting bodies left to bloat in the merciless sun.

Without thought, his hand came down on the shoulder in front of him, and the woman turned with practiced ease, snatching his wrist and pinching the pressure point there before spinning away.

That face. So familiar, so long missed, though he would never admit that out loud. But, again, something was wrong. The way her eyes flashed told him they were lighter than Jack's, which had always resonated in a low, warm purple. There were scars along her cheekbones and one that ran across her forehead. Her uncovered forehead. Jack would not have left the house without a head covering.

His eyes fell on a pair of battered goggles, a handmade shiv, and he felt something squeezing his throat, a feeling so strong that it was near physical. Who was this woman, who had a similar face, but smelled and walked and _felt_ so wrong? Did she know Jack?

Had she hurt Jack?

Maybe he had just forgotten how the girl smelled. It was reasonable, considering how long he'd been away. He doubted it, truly, but he tried anyway.

"Jack?"

He let the question linger.

The instant alarm on the woman's face was all he needed for an answer. He felt his blood begin to burn in his veins, felt his reasoning slip. Her fist shot into his jaw, and she used his split second of shock to turn, to run as fast as her feet could take her.

With a growl, Riddick burst into pursuit after her. Before his logic receded, before his animal took him completely, he told himself he just wanted his questions answered. That he wouldn't hurt her, whoever she was.

Later, much later, his mind would turn again and again to that moment and wonder how he could have lied so well to himself.

* * *

A/N: Short and (maybe not so) sweet. This chapter…drove me mad. Hence the long gap since my last update. I don't want to say that the next chapter will be out immediately, because I said that about this one…and proceeded to feel compelled to re-write it 9 times ( I kid you not…) R&R, much love, and I'll see you next chapter

~~Nifty~~

Acknowledgements:

schafer ~ zilly-pill ~ James Ramsey ~ boneslover13 ~ Sunshine ~ LiasonFan2 ~ Zen007 ~ VampyreVixen16 ~ MercuryAshlingPrincess ~ Apri-Chan ~ L'Amaryllis ~ Saismaat ~ Miss C

No random notes or fun quips for this chapter, but I wanted to say to all of you that, every time I got dejected and considered giving up (waxing maudlin, here) on this chapter, I went back and got heart to keep pushing by looking at all of your kind words, and your constructive criticisms. I can't thank you enough. Seriously. Here's hoping you enjoy 16.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work of fiction.

Warnings: Riddick and Silence meet for the first time. You guessed it: Violence, language, gore.

Chapter 17

Silence was a predator, a hunter; a killer so capable that the scent of death clung to her skin, and the aura of despair glimmered around her.

Silence never ran away from a fight. Silence ran towards battle with glee, totting up her count before she even loosed a single shiv

Now, Silence ran.

She ran because her feral intelligence granted her the ability to recognize a predator greater than herself. The barest glimpse of darkness had glinted in Riddick's eyes in those echoing seconds between them and she had seen her death reflected there.

Silence knew that simply wearing the same face as Jack would not save her because, just as she had seen the spark of recognition, she had seen the confusion and mounting fury that had followed it. Riddick was just as much animal as she was, and Silence was aware of how much she relied on her senses. She was not Jack, and she knew that Riddick's own senses were telling him so.

As she ran, she cursed herself for forgetting the predatory instinct to give chase when one's prey took flight. As her side hitched, she could hear his boots slamming into the pavement behind her. As she scrabbled over a low wall, she could feel the thrum of energy as his hand just missed her ankle.

She landed on the other side with a grunt, palms burning with the impact of her weight. She was up and running again before she was able to block the sting entirely.

She could feel Jack's chittering, nervous energy as she rounded a wall, hands skimming for purchase, for balance. She hadn't been afraid when Jack had fallen back and she had emerged, and she hesitated to use the word now. It wasn't fear of Riddick that spurred her on, kept her legs pumping, her mind working fiercely. Even Jack's thoughts didn't taste of fear, despite the fact that there was no small amount of trepidation there. No. This was something else entirely: A grudging respect, an acknowledgement of a force greater than them. Silence, personally, had no real experience with Riddick, other than the glimpse across the cargo bay of Chillingsworth's ship. All she had were Jack's memories and those drew a picture of a creature that was more beast than man, yet greater than either. Pain was his kingdom, terror his throne, and he wielded both with an alacrity and strength not seen outside of the gods of old.

It was this knowledge that kept her running, trying against all reason to escape their inevitable, and most probably violent, meeting. Riddick offered her challenge such as she had never had, and she took it in eager, grasping fingers.

When the hand clamped on her shoulder with a wrenching force, she didn't spare a thought for keeping herself from pain. She jerked her head back, slamming her skull into his nose, driving her elbow into his unguarded ribs at the same time. His surprised grunt of pain told her that he hadn't expected her actions and she used that to gain precious, fleeting advantage. She wheeled, and drove her fist home to those proud parts that made him all male. His growling groan was music to her ears even as he grabbed her elbow and sent her careening into a nearby wall.

Her hands were a moment too slow and, as her face greeted the wall, as her skin was kissed by the harsh and unforgiving stone, a deep ecstasy blossomed in her. This man, this beast, called her animal like none other, flooding her with equal parts anger, hatred, and unabashed lust. Never had she trembled as she did now, and she suddenly understood how his mere memory had kept Jack sane and fighting for all those years.

Riddick was rage made flesh, lust given life. He was sin and atonement all at once, and he swept over her with such force that she felt her knees weaken, felt herself swoon even as her hand grasped a shiv, dragging it harshly across his nearest arm. His blood blooming in the wake of her blade was a near-orgasmic sight, and his crushing grasp on her knuckles disarmed her in more ways than one.

He closed on her, and then there was no thought, only two fierce hunters, snarling, grasping, each determined to label the other prey and victim, neither willing to abate. When he pinned her hips, forced her leg too far so that her hip popped, she didn't hesitate to drag one clawed hand across his face, momentarily blinding him with pain as she dug her free fingers into the pressure points at the joint of his neck and collarbones. When Silence, standing, swung out one booted foot, Riddick didn't hesitate to take the opening, snatching her ankle so her own weight dragged her body to the ground.

Again, she was a moment too slow, and her skull met the pavement with bone-jarring force just before her elbows. Blood blossomed in her mouth, swimming over her teeth and tongue. This she promptly spat into the face of her fellow killer, and if he was bothered by it, it didn't show. His large, unforgiving hand wrapped around her throat. She struggled against it, latching onto his forearm, trying to force her chin down as she did. But, while her nails drew blood and she felt his bones creak in protest under her hands, his hold never loosened.

Silence tried to remain calm, to tap into the endurance that both she and Jack had cultivated over the years, but her heart refused to slow, and her lungs demanded air. She could feel the heat of her blood stirring under her skin, and the darkness began to engulf her. She imagined Jack's mental embrace as everything started to slip away, and she welcomed the comfort. As her mind slipped its worldly tethers, her last sight was Riddick's harsh, beautiful face, lips set in a thin line, eyes a swirl of confusion and lust.

Silence drifted, and knew content.

* * *

Riddick stared at the chained woman in front of him. She was a hell of a fighter, and the way she looked now, skin bruised, hair wild, face a mass of scrapes and drying blood, stirred something hot inside him. It wasn't a protective feeling, like he felt with Jack, and it wasn't lust, like he'd felt in the arms of other women. It was something like completion; a knowledge that he had conquered some previously indomitable force.

Riddick had always had a curious nature, a desire to delve into the very heart of people until he had torn all their jealously guarded secrets from them, and this woman who'd fought with the ferocity of a Hellhound was no exception. His eyes ghosted over the goggles that still hung at her throat, skimmed the hard lines of her body to the shiv that glinted on her hips, and he felt the simmering rage in his heart boil again. Fighter or not, interesting or not, this woman still had some link to Jack beyond their obvious physical similarities, and he was determined to discover what it was. He had learned her name, Sabriel Nix, from her idents and travel papers in her pack.

He padded out of the gym where he had bound her and headed to the cockpit. He had lifted off from Helion Prime as soon as he had secured her, and had set the ship on rotational orbit just outside of its atmosphere. He knew he had to contact Bryan and the Holy Man soon, but he also knew that he was too distracted to do so at the moment.

With a noise that was half sigh, and half growl, Riddick slumped into the Captain's chair, thoughts drifting between Jack and the chained woman who would most likely be receiving his un-tender attentions some time in the near future.

As he thought, he plotted, and anyone who had seen the look on his face would have run away with a healthy dose of fear.

* * *

Bryan stared down at the letter in his hands, caught somewhere between anger and guilt. Anger because he had wanted Jack to stay and face what he thought was a burgeoning relationship. Guilt because he knew his thoughtless actions of the previous night had helped push her out the door.

He groaned as he realized that Richards was due to arrive any day now.

'Hey, man! Found that girl you've been looking for, but I tried to put the moves on her and she ran away. Oops! So, how was your flight?'

_ Yeah, that'd go well._

Bryan snorted and considered his options. He could leave, get while the getting was good, but he had no doubt that his unfailingly persistent partner would track him down eventually. Considering his suspicions about the true identity of Evan Richards, that option was out of the question. He could try to track down Jack, but she had both time and local knowledge on her side, making that choice just as unlikely.

All that was left was to contact Evan, explain what had happened, and hope that he wasn't about to piss off a killer in hiding.

With that thought in mind, Bryan left his room in search of the Imam, feeling a sudden need for prayer.

* * *

Riddick stared at the chained woman in front of him as her ice-blue eyes stared defiantly back. _Sabriel Nix, Sabriel Nix, Sabriel Nix_. The name reverberated through his skull, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a croon. He had allowed his anger to cure as he waited for her to wake, and now he could feel it like a solid thing on his heart, ebbing and flowing with the blood in his veins.

He'd seen the goggles, seen the shiv, now he just waited on her confirmation. If this bitch had anything to do with Jack, had hurt or killed his one glaring link to humanity, she was in for a world of pain. He may have left her, may not have seen her for years, but if there was one universal truth, it was that no one fucked with Richard B. Riddick. Since he had taken Jack under his wing, however briefly, however long ago, she had fallen under that same heading.

He held up the goggles in front of her face. "Where'd you get these?" he growled menacingly.

"A friend," Silence hissed back.

"Who?" Riddick was practically begging her to admit it, to give him some reason to start the blood flowing again.

"I think we both know who," she replied, eyebrow arched tauntingly.

"Where is she?" Riddick's gravelly voice contained not even a hint of emotion, only pure threat.

"She's safe from you," was Silence's scathing reply. She could almost hear Jack whispering faintly, begging her not to taunt the man in front of her. Silence agreed, it was a fucking bad idea, but Silence was never one to back down from a challenge, not even in the face of torture.

The stinging crack of a massive paw on her face only served to prove her suspicion that she now tread upon dangerous grounds.

"Wrong fuckin' answer. Where is she?" he ground out, close to her face.

"Gone," Silence whispered against the swelling in her jaw. The pain was unimportant. Pain was vital, it kept you sharp. What bothered her was the humiliation of being bound and at someone, anyone, else's mercy.

"You asked for it," Riddick informed her simply. The way the words dropped from his mouth was the same way someone else might observe that the weather was warm, or the sky was blue.

For a long time afterwards, the only sounds were breaking bones, and begrudging grunts of pain.

* * *

Abu al-Walid, al-Imam, stared at the young man across the table from him. He had seen many stages of pain, in countless forms and faces, throughout his years as both a man and a religious figure. Bryan's face, now, spoke to him of pain, betrayal, loss, and fear. Never was there a good time for pain, be it mental of physical, but when combined with the other three, it was a heady mix indeed, and was bound to bring disaster upon its bearer.

Abu sipped his tea as he contemplated the man. He knew that some small measure of it must have to do with his errant daughter, as he too had received a letter from her, had read of her running with shaking hands and a heavy heart. But, he had long ago accepted her mercurial nature, and knew with a sure heart that she would return when she was ready, and not a moment prior. He would miss her, anew, but he looked forward to meeting her again in the future.

Bryan and Lyla, on the other hand, had not had the years of her moods and long silences to get used to. They had known her only briefly, had been shortly touched by her bright light, and they were now bereft without her presence. He had tried, earlier, to assure Lyla that her place in his household remained secure, but she was still too raw from the pain of Jack's departure to see reason. He had left her to her own devices, and come to his kitchen, seeking solitude and a warm cup of tea. What he had found was a tormented young man, desperately seeking solace, yet afraid to ask for it. And so, Abu waited, with the infinite patience learned over a lifetime of hardship and trial.

"She's gone."

Bryan's voice finally broke the silence, and Abu nodded solemnly, waiting for the young man to continue.

"I did something stupid."

Abu drew in a breath through his nostrils, and felt his gorge rise slightly. This was not what he had been expecting.

"What was this thing that you did, my child?" His voice was strong, firm and unwavering, despite the metallic taste of fear in his mouth.

"I kissed her…" Bryan's shoulders slumped and his head hung low over the table. Abu, for his part, released a sigh of relief. He doubted that Bryan would be the type to force a woman, or that Jack would be the type to acquiesce lightly, but he had feared it in the dark corners of his mind. Now that that suspicion was dealt with, they could move on to what else seemed to rest so heavily on the young man's shoulders.

"I have this friend, my partner, and he's been looking for this girl for years. I've been helping him and…I figured out that Jack, your Jack, was the girl. I was supposed to tell him…but I wanted to keep it a secret. He's coming here, soon, and now…Al-Imam, what do I do? Tell him I lost her? He's not…He's not an easy man to deal with. He's not very quick to forgive, and I don't think he ever forgets. I don't really know much of how he knows her. There was a crash, or something. She was younger…"

Abu felt the clutch of anxiety form around his ribs in a tight band as Bryan spoke, growing stronger as he continued, mentioned the crash. He, too, was meant to have told Riddick of Jack's return. He was too intelligent to give life to hope that Riddick was not the man in question. Still, he had to ask.

"Bryan, what is your partner's name? What does he look like? What is _he_ like?"

"Evan Richards. As for looks…He's tall, built like a linebacker. Long hair since I've known him, but he's shaved it all off, recently. He's got a weird thing for knives, and I've never once known him to let his guard down entirely. He scares me, even though I consider him a friend."

Abu nodded. Riddick had changed his name, made strides to change his appearance, but Abu knew the description far too well to be in any semblance of doubt. Riddick scared him, as well. Scared everyone he knew, as a matter of fact, with the sole exception of Jack. Even on the skiff, so many years ago, when she had angered him to the point of gruffly slapping her, she had not been afraid. She had laughed at him, and asked him if he felt better for it.

As it turned out, he hadn't.

Abu took in another calming breath, and faced the realities of their shared situation.

"Bryan…I believe you must call your friend. Tell him all, leave nothing out, and we shall both hope for his forgiveness."

Bryan stared at the older man with a look of sad resignation before he nodded. He had known what he had to do, but damn had he hoped there was another choice.

He sighed as he walked to the study and sat before the comm unit. His fingers felt heavy as he keyed in the familiar code.

* * *

Jack felt groggy as she lay in the warm sunlight of the clearing. Above her, the branches of what she had begun to think of as her tree swayed heavily in the breeze. Silence's pain-labored breaths beside her were harsh in her ears, and her body felt cool and heavy where it was draped across Jack's own. They were in the in between, the World that Wasn't, and Jack shuddered to think of the implications of that fact.

Silence had given up, too broken to continue to struggle along in their physical body. Jack tried, and failed, to understand what had happened. Her last conscious thought had been…What?

New Mecca

Leaving home

The space port?

"Damn, damn, damn," she murmured to herself, stroking her fingers through Silence's blood-matted hair.

"Always so eloquent, young warrior," came the voice from above her head. She squinted up, and sure enough, blocking her from the light of the sun, there stood the woman of her dreams.

"Aurora," she said coolly. "Don't happen to know why we're here, do you?"

Aurora laughed, and sat down by Jack's head, pulling it up into her lap and stroking her hair as she stroked Silence's.

"I brought you here, of course. You need to choose, and soon, exactly what we are to do about your situation. But, for now, it can wait. Needs you must return to your body, for a while, and assure that's taken care of, before we can move on here."

The stroking continued, and it sent chills down Jack's spine.

"Where is here again?"

Aurora laughed again, lighter this time. "I've told you already, what you see is Lucie. However, as for where we are, I believe I'll use your lovely little term…the 'in between'. You are neither asleep nor awake, dead nor living. You simply are, and in your relaxed state, I can finally speak with you, pig-headed non-believer that you are."

Jack nodded, mollified for the time being. The breeze stirred around her, and Aurora's fingers in her hair felt so good.

"Come, come, now, girl. You can't be lazing about. If your body waits much longer, you'll be dead, and all this will have been for naught."

With that, Aurora, the glade, and Silence all disappeared and Jack was screaming, falling.

Slipping.

Pulling.

Tearing.

Jack snapped into being, snapped into darkness, pain. Knowing only one way to stop it, hoping it would work.

She swallowed, tried to hiss, couldn't pass the fire burning in her throat, fire burning through her flesh. Everything was broken, bodily, mentally. Never, never had she known such pain, such devastation. And she knew, then, whose hands this state had been wrought by, whose blade had wrenched her skin from her bones, cut down into muscle. The one man who had saved her for so long, would finally be the one to break her.

She swallowed, thrust her tongue against her teeth, worked up enough spit to moisten her lips. He'd come when he heard her, recognized her…She hoped.

Pushing past the pain of her broken jaw, she murmured his name. Not loud enough. Used the pain to drive her. So, so broken…

Finally, she felt that fire, so close to quenched, so close to going out. Tapped into it, grasped it in desperate, tired fingers, tugged it up, blew it to life.

"Riddick…" louder this time.

"Riddick!" A gasp…

Finally, digging deep, knowing it could be what killed her, but wanting him to know what he'd done, who he'd done it to…

"RIDIIIIICCK!" An animal's howl. She choked on the blood that came with it, the blood that coated her mouth. Sagging against her chains, she gave in, welcomed darkness just as she heard the whoosh of a door, the pound of booted feet.

Oblivion.

* * *

A/N: Don't. Throw. Rocks.

Really, I promise, this isn't the end, not nearly. And if you kill me now you'll never find out what happens next, yeah? I never said that their meeting would be light and full of fluffy bunnies, nor have I ever attempted to make my Riddick a nice, sane guy. If you've read to this point, you've probably figured out that I'm a bit of a literary sadist. So…don't throw rocks, please. Remain patient, as I'm getting together the bones of the next chapter. Love, love, love you all, and I'm dearly hoping you'll stay with me until the end. As always, please, read and review! Until next time,

~~Nifty~~

Acknowledgements:

Sunshine - About time, eh? I'm glad you enjoyed it, and hope you like this one as well.

Apri-Chan – Yay! I'm glad, here's to you feeling the same way?

James Ramsey – Hah! Lady, you so rock my socks! I'm glad you enjoyed, and thank you for your words of encouragement. Yup, Jack's pretty messed up, but I'm hoping things will get better for her soon *shoots muse and impatient look*

VampyreVixen16 – Urm…Well O.o *sighs* Do what you will. I'm glad you've enjoyed to this point. Personally, I don't see Riddick as a rapist. At all. As for killing Jack…this is mostly Jack-centric, ergo…No Jack, no story.

schafer – Bryan should be fine. I still have plans for him ^.^ And thank you, so very much, for your kind and encouraging words. I feel like I've been pulling out all the tricks with this, and I'm not even half way done. Please do forgive the melodrama of a mopey Nifty…And thank you for the advice! I'll keep it stashed away for when block (inevitably) happens again. Hope you like!

MercuryAshlingPrincess – Ah, my dearest lass! Evil chapters do an emo writer make, unfortunately -.- However, I'm very glad you enjoyed the end results. Battle indeed! I'm thinking there'll be a lot of that, in the coming weeks. And don't worry, no rushing. Much love!

Elizabeth Cords – Huzzah! I've missed you. These last few chapters haven't ended up being as I expected, either. I think I'm about to give it up, as I keep being wrong O.o And in the future, there will be much of the Big Bad ^.^ And, I wouldn't be me without being just a tad bit evil, mwahaha. 3 !

MissC – Aw…It's the blushing fan-girl dance again, damn you! ^.~ Thank you, thank you, I'm glad you liked! I've noticed that, as well (the rape victim thing) and it's just….wrong, to me. Rather a bit inaccurate and I feel it downplays the emotional trauma of the victim. As I've said, I'm trying to stay real, despite the universe and circumstances. I'm eager to find out all those things too! I don't get to see much outside my dreams until I'm writing, so in a way this is all just as new to me. Happy reading!

Saismaat – Always, always grateful for your lovely words and insight! Thank you.

Opah – Welcome, and thank you ever so kindly!


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Riddick dropped into the chair by the ReGen tube and flicked his gaze over its occupant, just as he had done every night for the past month. According to her stats, she was fully healed, and should be awake by now, and yet, the tube refused to release her. He watched her eyes roll and flicker beneath her lids, lips pulled into a small frown.

That first night, the night when he'd realized his mistake, he had washed the blood from her skin, stitched her up, set her bones. Then, he'd placed her in the ReGeneration unit. It was designed for cases like Jack's, where physical harm was the issue. It wasn't meant to cure disease, but the tech could seal flesh, and heal breaks. A useful thing, indeed.

Every night since, he had come to sit next to her, sometimes talking, most times not. He had read somewhere that talking to people while they were in a coma helped them. He wasn't sure how much his presence could possibly be helping Jack, since he'd been the one to put her in her current state.

Riddick felt a brief, hot flash of anger, and washed it away with a shot of whiskey. He had questions, plenty, that he needed Jack to answer, but she had to be awake in order for that to happen.

"Fuck, Jack" he mumbled as he leaned his head on the glass encasement. "Time to wake up, little girl."

He stood and walked away, not seeing the flicker of pale eyelids, the brief flash of green.

Jack cracked an eye open. The light of the med-bay, low as it was, speared into her pupils and set a low fire burning along her optic nerves. She squinted, but didn't shut her eyes again. She lay still, trying to piece together some information based on her sensory memories. She remembered pain, hot and furious, racing along her flesh, her bones. She remembered the feel of bones being reset, stitches being laid in tight, precise paths along her skin. Needles being driven gently home to her veins, and then nothing, nothing. Her time in the In Between was a complete blur, all she could remember were Aurora's final words: "You won't remember this when you wake; you'll only remember as you need it, as you dream. But, and this is very important: Remember you are needed, that Riddick is needed. Never forget Lucie." And then she had fallen…risen, she wasn't really sure.

Now, in the cold silence she'd woken to, Jack poked and prodded at her recall, desperate to know more and it came back in grudging flashes. The sharp, musky scent of man, the sound of booted feet crossing and re-crossing metal floors, a hand resting on her forehead, her cheekbones, a low, growling murmur talking about any topic the owner could come up with. The weightlessness of the ReGen tube, the feeling of warmth thrumming through her body as she was pieced slowly back together. Why had that happened? Oh, right, back to the pain. Caused by? She reached, stretched out her mental fingertips, latched onto it.

Riddick.

Fuck.

Riddick had chased her…caught her.

Tortured her.

Jack fought back the swell of spit in her mouth, the surge of bile that rushed up her throat. Because it hadn't been her, not really. It had been Silence that he met, Silence that he smelled. Riddick had always been more animal than man, and had probably relied on his own sensory input far more than his logical processes. Which would explain…What? She frowned, tried harder to put the information together in a pleasing pattern, but found it was impossible. There was nothing pleasing in this situation.

She rolled to her side and groaned at the pull of unused muscles. She managed to get her head over the side of the bed just in time for the aforementioned bile to come spewing from her mouth. She coughed a wet, hacking cough and shivered. The air was too cold on her skin, the sheet too rough against it. Her brain happily supplied her with some past knowledge of ReGen tubes being equipped with some sort of nerve-deadening agent to better accomplish healing. It then proceeded to inform her that she was making up for that period of sensory deprivation now.

Shit.

She tried to swing her legs down to the floor, and only met with a small amount of success. Her feet touched the floor, and the rest of her made to follow them, but her legs had apparently not been used for some time, and the pins and needles that raced up her body were her only warning before she fell in an ungainly heap on the floor, the sheet following her slowly. She snarled then, and got her hands under her and pushed to her knees. Gripping the sides of the bed, she pulled herself up in slow increments.

Standing brought her a few new pieces of information. She was in a med-bay, presumably on Riddick's ship. Her head was pounding, but other than that she didn't feel pain other than the tingling across her skin as her deadened nerve-endings woke again and got back to work. And she was naked.

Double shit.

Still gripping the table with one hand, she reached down with the other to pick the sheet up, and wrapped it around her body, tucking the ends in above her breasts. She looked around, hoping to spot her bag, and loosed another curse when she didn't see it.

"Nothing for it, then…" she murmured, ill-used vocal chords turning her words into a harsh croak.

Jack made her slow way out of the med-bay, hoping that her body would wake fully soon. She was pretty sure that she was on Riddick's ship, but she had no way of knowing his mental state, or if he'd recognize her. At this point, she knew she couldn't defend herself against a toddler with a spork, let alone a psychopath that practically chewed nails for breakfast. Jack's brain once again supplied a mental image of just that, and she let herself snicker a bit over it.

Her travels brought her to a hallway. To her right, she could see four doors and a set of stairs, to her left she could see the glow of what she assumed to be the cockpit. Choices, choices.

Jack went with the right, pushing open the first door she came to. A bedroom, sparsely furnished. With only the meager light of the hallway runners to go on, she guessed it was Riddick's, since the bed looked like it had been recently slept in. She pulled the door shut and moved to the next one. This looked like it was a crew bunkroom, and she was about to shut the door to this one as well when her eyes alighted on a very familiar, and very welcome, sight: Her duffle and backpack were resting on the lowest bunk across the room.

With a crow of delight, Jack crossed the room, only stumbling a couple of times. She allowed herself a moment of victory as she realized that she had moved without the aid of a wall. She felt more awake than she had minutes before. She flopped onto the bed and began rummaging through the bag, finding a long-sleeved black shirt, a pair of black cargoes, and underwear. Her boots would be somewhere, but it was much more important to be clothed than shod.

She stood and crossed the floor again, pausing in the hallway.

"Riddick?" she called hesitantly.

Nothing.

"Riddick?" she tried again, a little louder, and still there was no response.

Jack found her brain flashing back to a similar situation, except that time, she had been screaming, bleeding…near death. She shuddered and forced it down. _Not the time, not the time…_

She walked back into the crew cabin, at a loss. She needed information, she needed a shower and, as her stomach rumbled, she realized she needed to eat. She was apparently alone on Riddick's ship, and it was definitely his, as his scent in the room next door had confirmed.

She shrugged and looked at the door next to the bunks. Crossing the room once more, she placed her palm on the pad next to it, and it hissed open, revealing a bathroom.

"Well, that's one thing at least." Jack murmured. She stepped in, closed the door behind her, and looked in the mirror. Riddick had obviously tried to clean her up, but there was some blood caked in her hair, and she could see smudges of dirt here and there along with patches of salt left behind from dried sweat. She frowned at herself, once again pushing the reasons for her state violently from her thoughts.

She leaned her head down and sniffed, lightly.

"Ugh," she moaned in disgust. Just a short time ago, her state was one of perpetual grime. But, since she had left the Floors, she had gotten used to daily showers and clean hair. Right now, she knew she smelled foul, and her hair felt matted to her head with old sweat, dried blood. She paused, considering. She really wanted a shower…but…As it was, she was in a weakened state, physically. She was sore, tired, and hungry, not to mention confused. The last thing she needed to add to that was wet, and naked, especially if Riddick had really gone off the deep end.

She growled low in her throat and dropped the sheet, dressing quickly. Once clothed, she bent at the waist, scratching her fingers over her scalp, loosening some of the caked filth there. She straightened and pushed her hair back from her forehead, leaving the bathroom. She dug through her pack again, finding a brush and hair tie. She pulled through the knots with fierce, angry strokes and secured the mass at the back of her head.

This took the last of her meager energy. She felt her eyes grow heavy. Pushing the packs into the corner of the bed, she curled up on the bunk, facing the door, a rescued shiv gripped in her hand.

She slept.

Riddick had heard her first sluggish movements, heard the thump of her body hitting the cold floor of the med-bay, her muffled curses as her body adjusted to moving once again. He listened, patiently, to her first shuffling movements. He heard her call for him, but felt a distinct sense of unease when it came to the thought of speaking to her. The last words he'd spoken to her, while she was conscious, informed her that she had no one to blame but herself for her treatment at his hands. He released a quiet sigh, the unfamiliar weight of guilt heavy on his chest.

He waited a while, until he heard no more noises from the crew cabin before stepping out of the shadowed niche he had slipped into upon first hearing her wake. He had to see her, even if she wasn't aware of it; he needed to know that she was truly healed.

He padded quietly to the door of the crew cabin, steeling himself for the possibility that she would be awake still, memory intact, fully aware of everything that had transpired that night he'd first seen her. He felt a brief, irrational flash of anger and grasped the spark of it, nurturing it in preparation for their first real interaction in seven years. There was something wrong with her, wrong enough that she apparently had evolved into a completely different person somehow. He knew, in the back of his mind, that whatever it was that had changed about her had probably changed while she was in the hands of the Reinas, or on Toombs' ship, or even on the Floors, all of which would make her dramatic shift explainable, understandable, but he needed to maintain the heat growing in his mind if he were to remain calm with her.

Riddick paused at the door to the cabin, hand hovering over the palm pad. What if she didn't recognize him? What if he'd finally pushed her over the edge, completed the evolution? She was a fierce fighter from what he'd seen and, even weakened as she was, would possibly still be a formidable opponent. He didn't want to hurt her again; he'd already done enough of that. For the past month he had watched her body heal itself and then refuse to wake; had watched her pale, blue-tinted eye lids shift over her restless, unseeing eyes when she was in something like REM. She had lost some of her muscle mass, and he hoped she'd be willing to stay with him long enough to rebuild it. He couldn't just leave her somewhere, knowing Toombs was still alive, knowing that she'd be recognized for what she was, without knowing she could defend herself.

Riddick shook his head, trying to physically force his thoughts to clear and follow a linear pattern. He had to focus, draw her out and into a conversation. His questions would be answered some way or another. True, he had a good guess as to what had happened to her, psychologically, but he needed confirmation, needed to hear the words come from her lips. From that point, she'd be able to decide whatever she wished, whether it was to stay with him, or get dropped on the nearest inhabited planet. Again, a pang similar to guilt throbbed momentarily at the thought, but he disregarded it. Nothing had changed in seven years; he was still a solitary man by nature, he still liked having his own space and not having to worry about someone else slowing him down. _Not that she would_, supplied a small traitorous voice in the back of his mind. He ignored that too.

Riddick pushed the palm pad slowly, and was not surprised by the knife that buried itself in the door-jam. He cocked his head and looked at it momentarily before leveling his gaze on the girl occupying the bed.

"Aim's off, Jack," he murmured softly, entering the room fully and shutting the door behind him.

"Fuck you, Riddick," she snarled, brandishing another throwing knife. "My aim's perfect. That was a warning."

He stepped closer and Jack launched another knife, this one landing at his feet. He made a soft clicking noise at her, shaking his head and he picked the knife up.

"Throwing sharp objects at your benefactors. Awfully uncivilized behavior, Jack."

"Don't," she growled, holding her hands up at him. "Don't throw old bullshit lines at me, Riddick. I'm not afraid of you, and I don't find you all that intimidating anymore." Her actions belied her words though, as she had backed up, kneeling, on the small bunk bed, her back was now pressed against the wall.

"Really?" Riddick smiled wolfishly and kept walking towards her. He waited until he could see the very real fear in her eyes, until he was within a few feet of her, before stopping. He could hear the breaths she was trying to control, and smell the fresh sweat that had broken out on her pale skin. He held out a hand, as if he was attempting to placate a wild animal, and just like a wild animal, Jack was snarling as he advanced.

"Relax, Jackie girl, I'm not gonna hurt you. Shit happens, and I think if we just calm down, we can talk about it."

"Right, Riddick, talk, like two rational adults, because that particular cliché applies oh-so-much in any situation that involves us." Jack's lip curled into a sneer on the last word, but she sat, slowly, back on the bed.

Riddick decided to take the high road, and simply squatted where he had been standing. Last she had seen of him, she'd been on the business end of a knife he was wielding. For now, he could be the bigger man and give her the extra height.

His actions seemed to relax her a little, as her grip on the knife in her hand became a tad less white-knuckled. He let out a small breath and looked down, shaking his head, before he dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.

"Been a long time, Jackie girl," he said into the ensuing silence. She simply nodded her head, and waved her hand vaguely in his direction as if to say 'continue'. He sighed, quietly, and scraped a hand over his stubbled scalp.

"People've been looking for you, ya know. Holy Man, me, hell, he even put out some info to the G.P., and you know how he hates dealing with cops."

At this, she firmed her chin up. "I've seen my father," she replied. Riddick just nodded, as if he'd expected as much.

"Figured that, seeing as how you were on Helion and all. Question is now…Where were you? And why were you running again?"

Granted, he knew the answer to his first question, but she didn't know he knew, and he was curious to see of she'd tell the truth.

_You know what they say about curiosity…_He shook the thought off, and waited, keeping his eyes on hers. Jack squirmed, just a bit, under his glare before she caught herself and glared right back.

"What's it to you anyway?" Her voice was full of her old defiance again, and it was almost a relief to hear.

He chuckled, low and menacing, and could practically see her hackles rise at the familiar sound.

"Oh, Jackie, Jackie, Jackie…Didn't think I'd forget about you, did you? I was gone for a while, sure, but I always intended to come back for you." This wasn't entirely true, but again, she didn't need to know that.

"Imagine my surprise when I call up the Holy Man one day and find that little Jackie Girl's gone and run off."

She snarled at this, just as he knew she would. She was breaking, itching to tell him exactly where she'd gone, just to rub his face in the knowledge that he'd failed her. Riddick mentally braced himself for it, waited for that crack in her armor to become a tear.

"I fucking hate that name. My name's Jack. Short, simple, you don't need to add to it. And I'm not a fucking girl, I lost that title a long time ago. And for your information, I _didn't_. _fucking_. _run_." Her breath ghosted over her lips in short, hot pants, and he could practically feel her anger rolling off her skin. He shrugged, knowing it would just push her farther.

"Maybe you did, maybe you didn't. Doesn't change that fact that you were running that night." He stopped and cocked an eyebrow, letting her know that the proverbial ball was back in her court.

She stared at him again, obviously ready to continue their little verbal brawl, but was stopped by a jaw-cracking yawn that forced itself past her lips. She closed her mouth with a snap, and dropped her head, letting her eyes fall to the blanket beneath her, where the fingers of her left hand were currently clenched.

"Riddick," she began, the word filled with defeat and fatigue, "I don't want to do this. I know you love your cat and mouse shit, but I don't, and I can't do it right now. I don't even really know how long I was out for. Yes, we have to talk, but right now, I'm tired and I'm sore. Can you pretend, for just a minute, that you aren't king of the cold-hearted? Please?" At this, she brought her eyes back up to his, and he felt just the tiniest drop of shame for baiting her like he had, knowing what he knew.

He nodded.

"Sure, kid. Go take a shower. I'll be right here if you need me." He knew it was a testament to how tired she really was that she didn't even protest his presence, simply nodded and staggered over to the bathroom, her atrophied muscles shaking with every step.

Riddick watched her progress with hooded eyes, staring at the wash-room door long after it had shut behind her and he heard the water running. Even when Jack had been young, she'd guarded herself well enough that he had never felt truly responsible for her. Now, as an adult woman who had seen more ugliness than most people, he had been the one to finally tear her down.

The weight of that thought hung like a chain around his throat, and this was one chain he knew he would never break.

Author's (Rambling) Note

So, things that are true: I'm not dead/gone. Life decided to completely kick the crap out of me, and as a result I lost my creative spark, for everything, for a while. I'm sorry, and if I've lost readership…I completely understand. However, I'm hoping there are enough of you out there that are still interested in the eventual outcome of this tale to stick with me even after my long ( nigh unforgivable…) hiatus. I won't promise that there will be another update in a week, but I'm aiming for within the month, as I'd love to get my feet wet again, and I really want to know what happens now that they're on more even footing. If you're still reading, please review, and know that I am forever grateful for your support. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times, and I hope to see you again next chapter.

~~Nifty~~

P.S. I will be attempting to respond to all reviews, by ff pm system, within the coming week, until then, know that I read and appreciated every single one of your comments.


End file.
